


Tech Support

by Amethystina



Series: Method of Support [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: And I almost forgot:, And you all know what that means, Angst, Angst galore, Communication, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Porn, ImagineTonyandBucky Prompt Fill, It became a lot more than that, It's an emotional rollercoaster, M/M, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Recovery, Set before Age of Ultron, Slow Burn, There will be a lot about Howard and Maria's deaths, This was supposed to be a cute fic about tech support calls, but it has a happy ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-02-05 02:35:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 31,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12785100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amethystina/pseuds/Amethystina
Summary: When Tony decides to personally answer tech support queries to find ways to improve the next Stark Phone, the last thing he expects is to grow weirdly attached to one of the callers. The man is clearly not accustomed to modern technology, but his determination to get better is both admirable and adorable, and Tony can't help prolonging their conversations. Before he knows it, they're exchanging numbers.Talking to James — be it over texts or the phone — soon becomes the highlight of Tony's day and he might just be falling in love, though he tries his best to deny it. He knows nothing can happen — not while James thinks Tony is just some random tech guy at Stark Industries rather than the man who owns the entire company. And, as if that wasn't enough, there's also Iron Man and the Avengers to consider. Tony would have to reveal everything before a relationship with James would be possible, but he's not sure how to do that without also risk scaring him away.It therefore comes as quite a surprise when Tony finds out that James has been keeping similar secrets of his own.





	1. A Call on Line Eight

**Author's Note:**

> _**Prompt by Anonymous:** Tech Support AU in which Tony is pretending to be tech support to see what customers want from the new stark phone, what difficulties they're facing etc. In the process he found a guy whose tech problems seems to suggest that he's a guy from the 50s. Tony thought it was interesting and they started chatting/flirting/become friends until surprise surprise, it was WS trying to live a normal life and hiding from Steve._
> 
> This is yet another prompt fill for [ImagineTonyandBucky](http://imaginetonyandbucky.tumblr.com/) and, unfortunately, my final one. It has been an amazing experience to write for the blog and meet new people through it, but, due to personal reasons, I have to resign. I will still be writing Winteriron fics, rest assured, just not for the ITAB blog. Fact is, now I might be able to finish some of my other projects, like the sequel to [Conflict of Interest](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7176122). We'll see!
> 
> This was one of those fics that took a village to finish. [Shi-Toyu](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Shi_Toyu/pseuds/Shi_Toyu) was kind enough to do the beta reading, [ivoughrie](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ivoughrie/pseuds/ivoughrie) and [Vashoth](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Vashoth) encouraged me with hilarious comments when I got stuck on chapter three, and [orbingarrow](http://archiveofourown.org/users/orbingarrow) held my hand while I worked on the last chapter and epilogue. A huge thank you to all of you — I honestly don't know if I would have finished this fic without such lovely people to help me along. As always, the banner and scene breaks are drawn by me.
> 
> Now, without further ado, I hope you enjoy the fic! <3

 

* * *

 

"Sir, another call on line eight," JARVIS announced.

Tony didn't bother to look up from his soldering. "Patch 'em through. On loudspeaker."

A soft beep told Tony that JARVIS had done as asked and he straightened slightly in his chair.

"Welcome to Stark Industries tech support, my name is Anthony," Tony said, the speech well-rehearsed after accepting calls for over three weeks. "How may I help you?"

The idea of personally answering some of the tech support calls was, if he dared say so himself, a stroke of genius. Even with randomly selected callers he had gained more feedback in the past three weeks than he'd usually get in three months from his R&D department. Unsurprisingly, the people who actually used his products were more keen to point out their flaws than those relying on him for their paychecks. The average person also had a tendency to find the bugs the programmers couldn't.

"Yeah, hi," said a slightly gruff but undeniably lovely voice on the other end. "I'm having problems with my phone."

"Well, calling seems to be working just fine," Tony replied automatically.

There was an awkward silence and Tony mourned the wasted joke. The guy clearly had no sense of humor.

"What's the problem with your phone, sir?" Tony asked politely.

"I can't connect to the internet," the man replied, grumpily enough that Tony wondered if the phone had also personally offended him somehow.

Tony decided to put the soldering iron away for everyone's safety. He had a feeling this would be one of _those_ calls — the ones that made him wonder why on Earth the person had even bothered to buy his phone in the first place. Not that he begrudged anyone the privilege of owning one of his amazing phones — he tried to make them as user friendly as possible, even for beginners — but he had learned that it was quite exhausting to try and personally teach people how to use them.

It wasn't that the callers were stupid, just that the gap in knowledge was difficult to bridge. Things Tony thought were obvious and self-explanatory could be completely new to the eighty-year-old who had gotten a Stark Phone from her grandchild. In all honesty, Tony had started wondering if _he_ was the problem, for not being able to put himself in their shoes and make his phones useable by everyone.

'Simple' had never been one of his mottos, but maybe he should give it a try.

Tony tilted his head to the side. "You mean WiFi?"

"Yeah, that."

"Do you have a hotspot nearby?" Tony asked. "And you've connected to it?"

"It says I have, but nothing's happenin'." The man's voice sounded fairly young, but his current problem made Tony suspect he might be an older gentleman. A hint of a Brooklyn accent could be heard when he spoke, but it was subtle — as if the man was trying to suppress it.

"Is it a public WiFi or does it have a password?"

There was a brief silence on the other end, presumably because the man was checking what type of WiFi he was trying to connect to. "There's no lock next to it, so it's public, right?"

Tony rubbed a hand over his mouth, but something about the hesitant tone made him smile rather than roll his eyes. "Usually, yes, but you might still have to open your browser and type in a password they give you — sometimes they just want to confirm that you're not a robot."

Another silence, this one longer and more awkward. When the next question eventually came, it was clear that the man assumed he would sound stupid for not knowing the answer. "What's a browser?"

A part of Tony wanted to bemoan the uneducated masses but, at the same time, he could understand the confusion. If the man was new to how modern technology worked, he might never have had the term explained to him — most people simply assumed everyone already knew the word and tossed it around in conversation without thinking twice.

Another one of Tony's callers — an older lady from the week before — had seemed to think that all browsers were simply called 'the Internet.' He'd had to ask her to describe what the little icon looked like to figure out which one she was using, since she hadn't registered the name.

"A program or app you use for surfing the web," Tony replied patiently. He got up from his chair and straightened his spine, holding back a satisfied groan when he felt it pop.

"Okay," the man replied. "Hang on." There were muffled noises on the other end — of the kind that signaled the person holding the phone had taken it away from their ear.

Tony wondered if the man had ever heard of speaker phone — or a headset, for that matter.

Probably not.

Tony walked a slow lap around his workbench while he waited, stretching his legs. DUM-E let out an inquisitive chirp when Tony passed and he absently patted the bot's arm.

There was more rustling of clothing and a strange click, like metal against glass, before the man returned. "Yeah, there was some kinda login site." The man sounded less gruff now, his accent a little more pronounced. "Seems to be workin'. Thanks."

"My pleasure, sir," Tony replied, making sure that his smile was evident in his voice. He didn't have the heart to tell the man that he didn't need to call tech support for something this simple — he could just as easily have talked to the staff at the store or library whose WiFi he was trying to connect to. They could no doubt have given him the instructions.

Tony came to a stop at his workstation, leaning his hip against the table. "Anything else I can help you with?"

"Not at the moment, no," the man replied. While he might have sounded grumpy at the beginning, he was actually more polite than some of the callers Tony had talked to. "Thanks again."

"Any time. Don't hesitate to give us another call if you need it."

"I will, thanks."

It was hard not to smile. "Have a good day, sir."

"You too, Anthony." And with that, the man hung up.

Tony kept smiling. The call reminded him of what Steve had been like when he was just beginning to figure out how modern technology worked. Of course, being the perfect specimen of human ingenuity that he was, it hadn't taken long for Steve to learn almost everything, but those first couple of months had been quite fun.

Perhaps it was nostalgia that made Tony clear his throat and say, "JARVIS, if that number calls tech support again, patch him straight to me, okay?"

"Of course, Sir," JARVIS replied.

Tony wondered if that was a good idea — morally and legally — but since he hadn't seen the man's phone number and wasn't trying to find out any of his personal information, he'd say he was in the clear.

He just happened to think that the man was kind of cute and had really liked the sound of his voice. That probably wasn't in Tony's favor — it actually made him sound more than a little creepy — but it wasn't like he was going to do anything untoward during a tech support call.

Tony only wanted to make sure that the man got the help he needed, that was all.

Tony lay sprawled in his bed, trying to gather enough energy to get up and start his day. Ever since Pepper left five months ago, Tony found that mornings were significantly duller now that he couldn't wake up next to her.

Nowadays, he liked to wallow for a while and berate himself for his stupid life choices. He knew perfectly well that his actions were what had caused Pepper to leave. She hadn't told him that — not in those exact words, at least — but he knew. Tony suspected that she might still love him, just like he still loved her, but that she had decided to be the adult in the relationship. She'd made it official, once and for all, that they wouldn't work — at least not as a romantic couple.

In many ways, Tony admired her bravery, even if the separation left him terribly maudlin at times. It was for the best — he could see that, too, since they wanted different things in life —but it still hurt.

It hurt a lot.

JARVIS's crisp voice cut through Tony's brooding. "Sir, there is a call waiting on line eight."

Tony frowned at the ceiling, even if he knew perfectly well that wasn't where JARVIS resided.

"Line eight?" he asked. "We stopped with the tech support calls a month ago."

He'd had a six-week run in total, but after that he grew increasingly bored with the simple, everyday calls and decided to allow the actual tech support staff to do their job. The experiment had been a huge success — Tony now had a lot of material he was already working on integrating into the next Stark Phone model — but he knew he had ordered JARVIS to stop forwarding random calls.

"You requested that calls from this number should be forwarded straight to you, if it ever contacted technical support again," JARVIS replied.

Tony blinked, then quickly sat up on his bed, sheets pooling around his waist. He should probably feel bad about his eagerness, but could he really be blamed for wanting something to break the depressing monotony of his morning?

"Go ahead and let him through."

There was the familiar soft beep before Tony launched into the greeting still fresh in his memory, simply for how many times he'd had to say it.

"Welcome to Stark Industries tech support, my name is Anthony. How may I help you?"

To Tony's disappointment, he was met with silence the first couple of seconds. Then, ever so hesitantly, he heard a dubious, "Uh. Hi."

"Hello," Tony replied.

"Is this the same Anthony as last time?"

Tony had to admit — he hadn't expected the man to remember him. It was a nice surprise, though.

"It might be. You do sound familiar." Tony felt a tiny stab of guilt for lying, but it wasn't like he was hurting the man, right? He quickly changed the subject. "So, what can I do for you today?"

"I downloaded a picture but now I can't seem to find it," the man replied. "I've done it over and over but it just doesn't show up in my gallery."

Tony pursed his lips, scooting back until he could settle comfortably against the headboard of his bed. "You're sure you've downloaded it properly?"

"Yes." The man sounded annoyed — perhaps even a little insulted. "I get the notification that the download is complete, but it's not in any of my albums."

"Have you scrolled through the entire folder?" Tony asked. "As a standard, photos and images are sorted after the date they were created or posted. When you download images with imbedded dates they might end up not at the top as you'd expect, but further down in your gallery."

"Hang on," the man muttered.

Tony leaned his head back while he waited, absently listening to the sounds filtering in from the other end. He could hear that strange clicking again, but he couldn't seem to place it this time either.

There was no mistaking the tired sigh the man let out, however, or the defeat in his voice when he replied. "I found it."

"Then shouldn't you sound happier?" Tony asked, feeling a surprising surge of compassion.

"I feel like an idiot," the man grumbled. "Every time I _think_ I've understood somethin' about all this new technology, 'm proven wrong."

"No, no, don't be like that," Tony protested. "It's not easy and I think you're doing really well. Also, if you got it on the first try, the people at tech support would be out of a job."

The man let out an amused snort. "Yeah, I guess that's true." There was a brief silence. "Hey, can I ask another question?"

"Shoot." Tony wasn't sure if he should be enjoying a tech support call this much.

"What's the easiest way to print from a phone?"

Tony shifted slightly in his bed. "Well, that depends. Are you hooked up to a network, and does that network have a printer connected to it? Or do you have a bluetooth printer?"

Several seconds passed without a reply.

"I'll take that as a no," Tony decided.

The question was actually quite tricky. Tony could come up with several ways to print from a phone, but he couldn't say which of those would be the _easiest_ — especially to someone who was less knowledgeable than him. Easy wasn't the same as fast or efficient, which was what Tony usually went for. In all likelihood, the man wanted a solution that was easy to set up and replicate.

"Can't I just... email the pictures to myself and print from a computer?" the man asked. The hesitation in his voice was quite heartbreaking — as if he expected Tony to laugh at him.

"You know what? Yes, go with that," Tony replied. It certainly wasn't the most efficient way, but the man should get credit for finding a solution all on his own. "Just keep in mind that when you attach images to an email from your phone, they're automatically made smaller, so if you want big pictures, you should probably hook up the phone directly to the computer instead."

"That's okay. I know how to do that." There was a hint of pride in the man's voice and Tony had to grab the nearest pillow and hide a smile against it.

How could one man be so adorable? And why did _Tony_ , of all people, find him adorable? He had never considered technological incompetence cute before.

Perhaps it was the fact that the man put so much effort into understanding how his phone worked. Instead of giving up, he called tech support and kept trying until he got it right, no matter if the problem was one most people found laughably easy. Tony could respect the man's determination and will to learn.

Sometimes, that was more valuable than having all the answers.

Tony placed the pillow in his lap, barely managing to keep a straight face — he didn't want the man to think he was laughing at him. "You could try the Cloud too," he suggested. "If you know what that is?"

"Yeah, I googled it."

Trying not to smile while talking to this man was clearly a losing battle.

"That's good. You get a free one-hundred gigabyte Stark Cloud with your phone, and it's really the easiest way to keep all your files available on all your devices."

"I can't say I understood all of that, but... I don't know. Is it safe?" The man sounded just as suspicious as some of the other older callers Tony had talked to. They seemed to think that anyone could access their Cloud, or that the files would disappear simply because they weren't physically stored on their devices.

"Well," Tony replied, "I wouldn't keep state secrets or illegal material there, but holiday photos? Sure."

The man chuckled. "I think I'll stick to emails for now."

"Fair enough, but don't hesitate to ask if you want to know more, okay?"

So what if Tony wanted to talk to this man again? He was polite and entertaining — not to mention quite sweet.

"I will. Thanks again, Anthony."

While Tony didn't usually like it when people used his full name, it somehow sounded good when this man said it. Tony could even feel a tentative little flutter in his chest.

That was probably a warning sign of some kind, but Tony stubbornly ignored it.

"Feel free to call if you ever need help again," he said instead.

"Yeah, thanks." The man had to be smiling — it sounded like he was smiling. "Take care."

"You too."

The man hung up and Tony let his head thump back against the wall. This was stupid. He gathered up the pillow and hugged it to his chest. He couldn't get attached to someone he had only spoken to twice — they hadn't even talked about anything significant. Tony knew nothing about the man — not even his name — and it was pathetic just how much Tony had enjoyed talking to him.

It had been a tech support query, for heaven's sake — not a social call.

Tony sighed and stared up at the ceiling. "JARVIS, do you think I'm lonely?"

It wasn't that he didn't have friends. He still saw Rhodey and the other Avengers on a regular basis, but their conversations were often related to work nowadays — about pinpointing and clearing out the last HYDRA hideouts after the D.C. debacle. And when they weren't doing that, Clint disappeared off the face of the Earth, Nat went off to try and find herself, and Steve got caught up in locating that missing best friend of his. Bruce was usually at the tower, granted, but he liked his private time and could isolate himself for days in a row when needed.

Even Rhodey wasn't around as often as Tony would like, what with the missions he needed to go on for the Air Force.

Was it so strange that Tony appreciated some human interaction that didn't involve Avengers business?

"Do you want statistics, Sir?" JARVIS replied.

Tony rolled his eyes. "Never mind." He tossed the pillow aside and climbed out of bed. "Just make sure my coffee is ready once I'm done showering."

"Of course, Sir."

"Welcome to Stark Industries tech support, my name is Anthony. How may I help you?"

Tony knew he should have sent the call through to the actual tech support, but he'd just come home from a board meeting and seeing Pepper always threw him a little off-kilter. It wasn't that he was angry at her — he'd even gotten better at not missing her these past couple of weeks — but it still took a lot of energy to pretend nothing was wrong.

He needed something to cheer him up and his favorite tech support caller would surely do the trick.

Just like last time, there was a silence on the other end. _Unlike_ last time, the eventual response was much more confident — maybe even a little flirty.

"We've gotta stop meetin' like this."

Tony burst out laughing.

He had his actual phone this time and was just stepping out of the elevator and into his living room in the Avengers Tower. The sun was setting, glinting off the glass coffee table and bottles stacked above his bar.

"It's the same Anthony, isn't it?"

"Yeah, it is," Tony confirmed, still snickering. The last call had been about a month ago by Tony's count and he could tell that something had changed. The man sounded different — more relaxed and happy. It was a good change.

Tony tugged his tie loose and tossed it over the back of the couch.

"Okay, I gotta say, that's highly suspicious." The man sounded amused, though, rather than upset. "I've called three times and you answer all three times? You tryna tell me that's a coincidence?"

There was that twist of guilt again. Tony turned on the loudspeaker and placed his phone on the coffee table, then shrugged out of his suit jacket. He couldn't keep lying, could he? He turned his head, looking out over the New York skyline — as if that would somehow buy him more time.

"Well, I have to be honest with you..." he began carefully, throwing his jacket on top of the already discarded tie.

The silence was a whole lot less comfortable this time.

"What?" The man immediately flipped from careless to wary. Tony didn't blame him.

He took a seat on the couch and closed his eyes, deciding it was better to get this over with. "I asked the computer to forward your calls to me after the first time we talked."

"Are you spying on me?" The low, dangerous growl was actually quite frightening — and Tony battled supervillains for a living.

"No! Of course not," Tony quickly replied. "That would be all kinds of illegal. I don't even know your phone number. I just asked the computer that _if_ you called, it should be forwarded to me." He ran a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry."

"Why?"

Tony frowned. "Why? I'm sorry because I lied about—"

"No," the man interrupted, "why did you ask the computer to do that? Why would you want to talk to me?"

That was somehow a more terrifying question than the previous ones, but the answer was just as obvious.

"Because I like talking to you."

Another silence.

"Oh."

Tony braced his elbows against his knees and hid his face in his hands. This was going _so_ well. He did feel better, though, now that there were no secrets between them. Well, okay — the man still didn't know that he was the infamous Tony Stark rather than Anthony the Tech Guy, but that was surely for the best.

"James."

Tony looked up at his phone in surprise. This wasn't a video call, though, so he didn't really gain much from it. "What?" he asked.

"My name is James," the man said, sounding a little shy — as if he didn't usually allow people the privilege of knowing his name. "And I like talkin' to you too."

Those words caused a swoop of delight in Tony's stomach. "I'm glad to hear that, James."

Something teasing snuck into James's voice. "Out of all the people I've talked to at Stark Industries, you're definitely my favorite."

Tony snorted. "You just said I'm the _only_ person you've talked to at Stark Industries. But thank you," he replied drily. "Did you call just to be snarky or did you have an actual support issue you need help with?"

"Yes. Right." James cleared his throat, handling the sudden switch in subject with admirable grace. "There's something wrong with my phone camera. It won't switch to landscape view when I tilt it anymore."

"That's our fault, actually," Tony replied. He'd been briefed about that exact thing on the meeting with R&D last week. "Someone missed a couple of ones and zeroes while programming the newest update and it caused several glitches. We apologize for the inconvenience and will be sending out a correction within three days that should fix the problem."

"Oh. Okay. That was... easier than I thought."

Tony laughed. "You're not the only one who messes up, sweetheart."

The second after the words left his mouth, Tony wished he could take them back. He hid his face in his hands, praying James would just pretend he hadn't heard.

"Did you just call me _sweetheart_?"

No such luck, apparently.

Tony cringed. "Yeah, sorry. It just slipped out. It won't happen again."

"I didn't say I disliked it."

Embarrassingly enough, Tony felt his heart skip a beat. What was he? Some teenager with a crush?

"Are you flirting with me?" he challenged, not to be outdone.

Tony could practically _hear_ the grin in James's voice. "If it means I get to call you sweetheart back, then you bet I am, doll."

That shouldn't make Tony blush — he was a grown man, for heaven's sake, with a playboy's reputation — but for some reason it did. Everything James said sounded so sincere. Who even called someone 'doll' in this century? It was outdated and weird and absolutely wonderful. Tony loved it.

"Well, okay then," Tony replied, not able to hold back a giddy smile of his own. "Carry on."

He could admit that he still felt a stab of guilt at the thought of flirting with someone other than Pepper, but he pushed it aside. They had split almost seven months ago and weren't going to get back together — Pepper had told him so in exquisitely painful detail.

Surely Tony could engage in some harmless flirting with a charming man?

Not that he knew anything about said man. He still couldn't tell how old James was and Tony wasn't sure if he wanted to guess. James occasionally talked like he was older than Tony, but his voice sounded younger. It was quite confusing.

"Is this where I give you my number?" Tony blurted out. He closed his eyes, trying to fight down the sudden burst of nerves. "My private one, I mean. That way you won't have to call tech support every time you want to talk. I'm also a big fan of text messages."

"I guess that would require me givin' you my number as well?" James sounded amused, his voice a smooth drawl that might or might not have sent a shiver down Tony's spine.

"Well, yes. But I promise not to do anything weird with it."

Tony's heart was racing.

James chuckled and that, too, was far more tempting than should be allowed. "Okay, sure. I'd love to get your phone number, sweetheart."

Tony grinned.

They started out light with only the occasional, tentative text but, in a matter of two weeks, Tony and James had graduated to long, heartfelt phone conversations that lasted well into the morning hours. James seemed to be just as much of an insomniac as Tony, and the man rarely let a text remain unanswered for long.

Tony learned a lot about James during those calls and he treasured every single detail he was allowed to glimpse. Overall, James was a very private person, but he apparently felt safe enough to explain that he was a former soldier and struggled daily with nightmares and PTSD. James hadn't used that word specifically, but Tony knew the signs after he had been diagnosed with it himself.

While James never said so outright, Tony suspected that James had been taken prisoner at some point in his military career. There were times during their midnight conversations when James would sound cornered and haunted in a way Tony remembered all too well from his own time just after Afghanistan.

Unfortunately, Tony couldn't tell his own story — not in full, at least — without risking James figuring out who he was. He offered what comfort he could, though, and suggested things that might ease the pain. But what helped more than anything, Tony suspected, was having someone to talk to.

Despite being a wonderful guy with a frankly perfect sense of humor, James was obviously lonely. Perhaps some of that was due to his paranoia — he never told Tony exactly where he lived in the US, and was careful about divulging any kind of personal information — but even with that taken into account, Tony just couldn't understand how someone so wonderful could be so alone. James was an absolutely amazing man who made Tony smile and laugh and even blush on a daily basis, though Tony often refused to admit that last part.

But, despite being able to spread so much joy, James was suffering. The first time he started crying during one of their conversations, Tony had almost called for the suit and ordered JARVIS to triangulate James's position. The only thing that stopped him was the fact that it would be a breach of trust and Tony knew that was a big deal for James. The last thing Tony wanted was to make James feel unsafe.

Instead, Tony had done his damndest to help James through it with soothing words and calm reassurances. It had been difficult — especially since Tony had been forced to listen to James's choked sobs the entire time, which just about broke him — but James had eventually stopped crying.

Miraculously, James had seemed to be feeling much better afterwards and Tony had wondered just how long James had waited before finally allowing himself to break down. Too long, from what Tony could tell. After that first time, James was thankfully more willing to discuss how he was feeling and why, though he still kept the details of his military career awfully vague.

Guilt and fear seemed to be the two things that held James back the most. He never explained what he had done that he felt so bad about or who he was running from, but Tony could relate all the same. He understood the crushing weight of knowing you had innocent people's blood on your hands, and the terrifying certainty of knowing that any moment could be your last, if you were careless enough to let your guard down.

More than anything, Tony wanted to give James a hug and tell him everything would be okay. When he couldn't — since he wasn't brave enough to suggest a physical meeting — he did the next best thing.

He sent texts throughout his day — be they silly and fairly insubstantial — hoping to keep James occupied and in a good mood. Tony took pictures of anything and everything he thought James might like and, when that wasn't enough, sent him a barrage of cat videos. JARVIS had gathered a virtual library for Tony to use with this single purpose in mind.

One night, when James was too keyed up to sleep _or_ talk, Tony settled down on his couch and read out loud to him — the first _Harry Potter_ book, of all things. James had apparently been meaning to read it but never had the time. He'd liked it so much — both the book and Tony's reading of it — that it became a thing during those evenings when they ran out of their own words and needed someone else's to fill the silence.

As the weeks passed, Tony grew more and more fond of the sometimes subdued yet wonderful enigma that was James. It reached the point where a simple text from the man could send Tony's heart racing, and whenever James called him doll or sweetheart, Tony felt his chest clench from feelings he wasn't quite ready to acknowledge yet.

The flirting continued, too — it grew more and more heavy, in fact. James was a smooth talker and when he decided to pull out all the stops and be as charming as humanly possible, Tony could admit that he had a hard time resisting the man.

Not that he tried particularly hard.

There were times when they seemed to be just on the verge of tipping over into something more, but Tony always chickened out before he found the courage to suggest phone sex.

By then, a lot of the things James did made Tony's pulse quicken.

The way he laughed and talked — that smooth drawl with just enough teasing to it to send a tickle of excitement down Tony's spine. The smile in his voice when he called Tony by one of his nicknames, and the way he never said goodbye or goodnight, instead finishing each conversation by saying that he already looked forward to the next one.

James made Tony feel appreciated in a way he hadn't since he was with Pepper, and maybe that was why it was so difficult to keep things platonic. Everything James did made Tony want to kiss him. And, judging by the flirting, James was on the exact same page.

Tony knew nothing could happen between them before he told James who he was, though. It would feel like a lie otherwise. But, considering the reaction Tony usually got when people recognized him, he was understandably hesitant to tell James the truth.

He was afraid that he would scare James away.

Not everyone was supportive of Tony Stark and Iron Man and, considering James's paranoia, he probably didn't want to be with someone so famous. James knew Tony had money — he hadn't been able to hide that when he told James stories about his life — but being rich was one thing and being Tony Stark was another one entirely. If they were lucky, they might be able to keep a relationship hidden, but Tony wouldn't bet on it.

The paparazzi were vicious — especially when it came to Tony's love life — and James deserved better than that.

So Tony kept postponing the conversation, hoping it would all just go away. He knew it wouldn't, of course, but he could always hope.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to point out that while I have _not_ worked at any kind of tech support, I DO work at a library, which a lot of people seem to think is the same thing. Librarians are, apparently, expected to know _everything_ (and we do, so, well, fair point, I suppose). All of the tech support questions are ones I have gotten from people who are 50 or above. I think it adds authenticity.
> 
> Come and say hi on [Tumblr](http://amethystinawrites.tumblr.com/)!


	2. A Meeting in New York

 

* * *

 

"You've found someone, haven't you?"

Tony looked up from his phone, finding Pepper standing next to his desk with her arms crossed over her chest. There was a smile on her lips, though, to soften the slight accusation in her words.

"What?" Tony carefully put his phone down, as if hoping she wouldn't catch the movement. He had been in the middle of reading a text from James.

"I know that smile," Pepper said. She looked a little wistful, but not betrayed, thank heavens. She walked to stand next to him, leaning against the edge of his desk. "It's okay if you have, Tony."

He swallowed, feeling a flutter of nerves. "I... might have?"

"You're not sure?" She tilted her head to the side and Tony was suddenly struck by just how much he'd missed her. Not in a romantic sense, but as someone he could talk to about what was going on in his life. Pepper had been one of his closest friends long before she became his girlfriend, after all.

Tony traced the outline of his phone, not meeting her gaze. "He doesn't know who I am."

There was a brief, judging silence. "That's going to be a big bomb to drop," she said after a while.

"Yeah, tell me about it." Tony leaned back in his chair, looking at Pepper. "He's just... so _good_. I don't want to ruin it. What if he'll think differently of me when he finds out that I'm Tony Stark, genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist?"

Pepper's smile was crooked. "I hate to break it to you, Tony, but you are a rather poor excuse for a playboy nowadays."

Tony snorted. "Yeah, okay. That's true."

He hadn't gotten laid since he and Pepper broke up, having been far too busy with work and James to hook up with someone.

"Honestly, Tony," Pepper began, nudging his calf with her expensive shoe, "if he's such a great guy, he'll give you a chance to at least explain yourself."

"I know, but what if—"

"Give _him_ a chance," Pepper interrupted, her smile fond — if with a pained hint. "He might handle it better than you think."

The "better than I did" went unsaid.

Tony swallowed, his smile sad. "We weren't that bad, were we?"

Pepper exhaled and shook her head. "No, we weren't. But it wouldn't have worked."

As much as it hurt to admit, Tony nodded. He would probably always miss Pepper. Even if she was still his friend, it wasn't the same. She had other responsibilities — other people to prioritize above him — but he knew it would be selfish to try and chain her to him just because of that.

Pepper deserved so much better.

"You'll let me know when you find someone too, right?" he said, hoping to show that he wanted her to move on as well. He might be selfish, but he tried his best not to be cruel as well.

Pepper smiled and leaned in to kiss his cheek. "I promise." She gripped his chin, staring at him with that frighteningly penetrating glare of hers. "Talk to him," she ordered.

"I promise," Tony replied dutifully.

While Tony had every intention of following Pepper's advice — he had come to terms with the fact that she always knew better than him — he never got the chance. Before Tony had managed to gather up enough courage to broach the subject of his true identity, he got a call from James that threw their relationship into a tailspin.

Tony was in his workshop, fiddling with the boot repulsors, when his phone started vibrating. He knew it had to be James. Other people had his number, sure, but few called him at 1 AM.

Tony reached out and swiped to accept the call. Ever since he and James started talking more frequently, he'd gotten the habit of handling calls and texts through his actual phone rather than JARVIS. It might be silly, but it made him feel just a little bit closer to James.

"Hello, gorgeous," Tony greeted, smile already on his lips. "How are you?"

"Anthony." There was a tightness in James's voice that Tony had never heard before. "I-I need help."

Tony's stomach dropped, worry twisting inside his chest. "Of course. What's wrong?"

"Well, I... I might be bleeding."

The screwdriver Tony had been holding clattered to the table.

"What do you mean _might_? Where are you?" Tony stood up, instincts telling him to _do something_. But he still didn't know where James lived. The suit could get there quickly enough, but he needed to know where to go.

"Um. New York." James sounded sheepish, but that didn't hide the slight tremble in his breath — or the way he spoke through gritted teeth. He had to be in a lot of pain.

" _New York_? You're _here_?" Tony snatched up his phone and switched off the loudspeaker, pressing it to his ear instead. "Since when?" he asked, perhaps a little sharper than necessary. He had told James long ago that he lived in New York but James had never said anything about dropping by — not once in the two months they had been speaking to each other.

Now that he knew that James was close, Tony desperately wanted to order JARVIS to power up the suit, but found himself hesitating. Depending on how injured James was, it might be better to pick him up in a car. The suit might be faster, but it had limited options when it came to carrying passengers — especially injured ones.

Decisions made, Tony ran for the elevator, heading for the garage. Traffic hopefully wouldn't be too bad at 1 AM on a Tuesday.

There was a small noise on the other end of the line, like a half-choked, humorless laugh.

"Since I started tryin' to work up the courage to ask to meet you in person," James replied. His words were so soft and careful that Tony's heart clenched.

Tony closed his eyes where he stood in the elevator, feeling a swoop in his stomach that he knew had nothing to do with the drop in altitude.

"James..."

"I didn't want it to happen like this," James continued and Tony could hear the agony in his voice. "But they found me and I can't go back to my hotel and I—" He swallowed, loud enough to be heard over the phone. "I don't know where to go. I shouldn't drag you into this, I know I shouldn't. _Fuck_. I should just—"

"No, James, don't you dare," Tony said sharply. "Don't worry about me. First we need to get you somewhere safe, okay? Where are you?"

Tony heard something that sounded like a sob, but could just as easily have been an aborted cough. "I don't know. I just... I ran, and nothing looks like I remember and I'm hiding in some back alley and I can't see any street signs—"

"Sweetheart, breathe for me, okay?" Tony interrupted. The elevator doors pinged and he ran for the closest Audi with a backseat — he might need the extra space.

James took a deep, shuddering breath but it was difficult to say if that actually helped.

"How badly are you hurt?" Tony asked as he slid behind the wheel, tossing his phone onto the passenger seat. JARVIS, the wonderful helper that he was, connected the call to the car's loudspeakers without being asked.

"I got shot. Twice."

Tony froze, if only for a split second. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then started the car. He had no idea who James was running from but they were clearly not to be messed with.

"How bad?"

"Not very?" James replied, but he sounded far from certain. "I can walk, but it's bleeding pretty heavily."

Tony gritted his teeth and drove to the exit of the garage. "James, I'm going to let JARVIS triangulate your position via your phone, okay? He'll tell me where to find you. Just keep talking."

"Jarvis? Wasn't that your butler as a kid?" James asked, but he sounded a little less tense, perhaps because he knew help was on the way.

Despite the severity of the situation, Tony managed a faint smile. "It's a long story — one we can save for another time. Point is that he's going to locate you through your phone and I'll come get you, okay?"

"Yeah, okay." James sighed, his breath trembling. "Okay. That sounds good."

"Just hang in there, James. I'm coming."

"The alley up ahead on your right, Sir," JARVIS reported.

Tony's heartbeats were echoing in his ears, his hands gripping the steering wheel tight enough to hurt. The drive had been nerve-wracking. He'd managed to keep James talking, even if he was clearly growing quieter and quieter for each minute that passed. At each red light Tony had cursed himself for not having taken the suit instead, but hadn't quite been able to bring himself to break the traffic laws just to get to James quicker, either.

The last thing Tony needed was to end up in a car crash.

Thankfully, he had finally arrived.

"Thanks, J," Tony replied as he pulled up and parked next to the curb.

"Anthony," James said, his voice tired and frail, "there's something I should tell you before—"  
  
"Really not the time, James," Tony interrupted, throwing open the door. "I'm right around the corner, so whatever you have to say, it will be to my face. Be with you in a second."

"No! Anthony, wait—"

Tony didn't hear the rest as he left the car — and his phone — behind, jogging towards the alley JARVIS had indicated. Only then did Tony reflect on the fact that he had rushed out of his workshop in nothing but sneakers, a ratty t-shirt, and a pair of jeans — in the middle of March. Not that he let the cold stop him.

"James?" Tony called out, slowing his pace as he stepped deeper into the dark alley James was hopefully hiding in. Worry was making his heart race, adrenaline keeping him alert. Tony walked carefully, not wanting to accidentally trip over James if he happened to be sitting on the ground.

What Tony hadn't expected was to suddenly be pushed up against the nearby brick wall and feel cold, hard fingers wrap around his throat. The hand didn't squeeze, thankfully enough, but Tony automatically tried to push it off, fingers scrabbling for purchase. Tony's efforts made no difference whatsoever, the grip firm like steel.

No, he realized a split second later — the hand was _made_ out of steel.

Tony's breath caught. He only knew of one person who had a metal hand and was called James.

Holy shit.

It was dark in the alley, much too dark for Tony to see properly, and he could only make out the vague outlines of James's features. Even then it was unmistakably Sergeant James Barnes Tony had before him — Captain America's missing best friend and the world's top assassin.

"Shit," Tony whispered.

He hadn't seen this coming.

"You're Tony Stark," James snarled, with a barely noticeable tremble to his voice. He was still hurt, after all, his free hand pressed tightly against his right side. Tony swallowed when he saw the dark blood staining James's fingers.

There was clearly no point in lying. "Yeah. Anthony Stark."

A myriad of questions were swirling inside Tony's head, but he knew those would have to wait for another time. He had other priorities.

"You're Iron Man."

"That too," Tony confirmed. He didn't know what to do. The brick was cold and rough against his back, but he knew he wasn't strong enough to push James away — he wasn't sure if he _wanted_ to. Tony's concern for James's well-being greatly outweighed his self-preservation instincts.

"Did Steve send you?" It was a rough, wounded growl, betrayal lacing James's words.

Tony frowned. "What? Why would he—"

"He's looking for me! I know he is," James gritted out. "And you work with him. You could have—"

"Oh, come on," Tony interrupted, offended. He made sure to keep his hands clearly visible, however, not wanting to antagonize James any more than he had to. "You think Steve had me monitor the tech support calls to Stark Industries on the _off chance_ that you'd buy one of my phones and call for support? And that I would be lucky enough to stumble over _your_ call amongst the _thousands_ we get every day? I know you have to be constantly vigilant, but you must hear how preposterous that sounds."

James was gritting his teeth, either from the pain from his wound or the anger caused by Tony's words.

"James, I promise you, this is all a big coincidence. A _huge_ one, I have to admit, but I'm just as surprised as you are. I had no idea who you were until you pushed me up against this wall."

The mere mention of their current positions — and the fact that James had his fingers resting against Tony's throat — had James backing off as if burnt. It had to hurt to move that quickly while being injured, but the only emotion on James's face was horror and shame.

"'m sorry," he whispered hoarsely. "I shouldn't have... I can't believe I just—"

"Hey, it's okay," Tony said quickly, holding up his hands in what he hoped was a soothing manner. "You'd be surprised by how often people try to strangle me. Besides, you're hurt and you're scared and, on most days, I could be one of your enemies — I get it."

James hunched in on himself. Again, it could be either because of the pain or whatever emotional turmoil he was going through. Tony was itching to reach out towards him but knew better than to try — at least until James had told him it was okay.

"You're not, right?"

"Your enemy?" Tony swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. "Of course not, sweetheart."

"It... it was real?" The amount of hope and vulnerability in James's voice nearly broke Tony's heart. "The calls and the texts and... everything?"

"Yes, it's real. I swear, it's all real. All of it." Tony inched closer, but still didn't try to touch the other man. "But we can talk about that later — _after_ you've seen a doctor."

James flinched back. "I can't go to a hospital."

Tony remained calm, hands held within clear view. "I'm not going to take you to one. I happen to be filthy rich, you see, so I can ask a doctor to make a house visit _and_ pay them to keep quiet about it."

Usually, Tony would have asked Bruce, but he was on vacation in India. That was probably a blessing in disguise considering James's paranoia — he might not like it if Tony tried to involve more Avengers in the proceedings.

A heavy silence settled between them, broken only by the sound of a car driving past on the next street over. Tony hadn't expected things to be this tense between him and James — they had always talked so easily over the phone. But, then again, he hadn't expected to find out that James was the infamous Winter Soldier, either.

"You're taking me to the tower?" James asked, suspicion clear in his voice.

"I have a private elevator," Tony assured. "And two whole floors, just to myself. None of the other Avengers will know a thing — not if you don't want them to."

Admittedly, Tony would feel bad about keeping secrets from them — Steve in particular — but what else could he do? With any luck, Steve would be gone for another week at the very least, chasing a lead on James in Los Angeles.

A very false lead, apparently.

James still didn't seem convinced.

"Where better to hide from the Avengers than in the same building as them?" Tony asked. "Besides, HYDRA can't get to you there, I promise."

James stiffened at the mention of HYDRA, but seemed to force himself to relax a second later. They had to be the ones hunting him — the authorities would try to take him in for questioning rather than shoot him on the spot.

After another couple of seconds of tense silence, James's shoulders slumped in defeat.

"Okay, fine," he mumbled.

"Awesome." Tony made no attempt to hide the relief in his voice. "The car's this way."

James nodded and, despite the pain he had to be in, followed Tony out of the alley without as much as a complaint.

Tony was pacing back and forth inside his living room, trying not to let his worry get the best of him. He could admit that he wasn't being particularly _successful_ , but at least he _tried_.

Tony's chosen doctor had come and gone, and while she had been unimpressed by the late hour, she had done a marvelous job of patching James up. According to Dr. Yeng, James's injuries were relatively minor considering that he'd been shot twice — one of the wounds was apparently nothing more than a graze. Tony suspected that might be thanks to James's super soldier healing, but he hadn't mentioned that to her, mostly because of the warning glare James had given him.

Once all the stitches had been sewn the good doctor had ordered James to rest, then towed Tony out of the room with a firm hand. Apparently, 'rest' meant not talking to him either. Tony could understand that — he could — but he also couldn't help being worried.

What if there were unforeseen complications? What if James needed something? Tony's guest room was lavish, granted, but it didn't exactly have a stocked mini-bar. What if James got hungry? The only things James had with him were the bloodstained clothes he wore and a backpack. Tony hadn't asked what was inside the bag, figuring it was private, but he didn't think it was food.

Tony knew there might be other things he should be considering — like the fact that he was harboring a fugitive who happened to be the very same man who Captain America was out on a wild goose chase after — but he couldn't seem to think beyond the fact that the man he was in love with had gotten shot.

Trying to wrap his head around James being the Winter Solider would just have to wait for another time.

"You're gonna wear out the floor if you keep that up."

Tony jumped, whirling around to find James standing in the doorway to the living room. He had changed from his bloodstained jeans into the soft sweatpants Tony had provided — shamelessly stolen from Steve's wardrobe — but apparently hadn't bothered with the accompanying t-shirt. The bandages were bright white against James's skin and Tony tried not to look too closely at all the muscles on display — or the metal arm, for that matter.

He had a feeling that would be seen as bad manners.

"You should be resting," he blurted out, not really knowing what else to say.

"Too wired," James replied as his gaze swept over the room — probably to count the exits and escape routes. Eventually he settled on the breathtaking view of New York at night, with its high skyscrapers and millions of twinkling lights. "It's so quiet here."

Tony shoved his hands into his pocket, both to keep them from shaking and to stop himself from reaching out towards James. "JARVIS can play you some music if you like. Or just... white noise."

"And Jarvis is?"

"My AI," Tony explained, pointing at the ceiling even if that _still_ wasn't where JARVIS resided. "He runs the tower. And, well... a lot of other things."

"A pleasure to meet you, Sergeant Barnes," JARVIS greeted, polite as always.

James, to his credit, didn't even flinch. "Likewise."

"If you need anything — anything at all — just tell JARVIS and he'll get it for you." Tony didn't feel nearly as nonchalant as he pretended to be. "He can play music to help you sleep, or change the temperature in your room, or order pizza. Whatever you need."

James hesitated. "I'd rather rest on the couch, if that's okay with you?"

Things were undeniably awkward between them, but this was a tentative step forward — an offer to spend time together rather than hide away in separate rooms.

Tony wanted that very much.

"Be my guest," Tony replied, nodding towards the couch.

Despite being shot not long ago, James moved with impressive ease as he walked over to the couch. Sitting down was apparently not as easy, but the discomfort only showed in the stiffness of his movements, not his face.

Tony swallowed, weighting back and forth on his heels. "This really wasn't how I pictured our first meeting," he said, the words loud in the silence of the room. Perhaps James had a point about it being too quiet in the tower. They were too high up to hear the noise from the streets and everything was soundproofed to prevent the Avengers from disturbing each other.

James looked at him, eyes tired. "What did you picture?"

Tony shrugged. "Not sure, to be honest. I thought... well, I thought the biggest problem would be my fame. But now, well..."

"It might be mine," James finished bitterly. He looked down at his hands, clenched tight in his lap. "I wanted to tell you. I _tried_ to tell you."

With careful steps, Tony walked over and sat down on the couch opposite to James. "I know. And I tried to tell you. I was working up the courage to explain who I really was."

James frowned. "You're not angry? Or... upset?"

"About who you are?"

A nod from James.

Tony knew the question required a proper answer, so he gave himself the time to formulate a good one.

"I don't know," he said at last, after several seconds of silence. "I might still be in shock, to be honest." He smiled, however faint. "But I don't regret getting to know you, and I know for a fact that I don't want to stop talking to you. I mean, things aren't going to be easy — no matter how much I want them to be — but I'm willing to give it a try."

James averted his gaze, his jaw tightly clenched. "It's okay to hate me," he muttered.

"What?" It was Tony's turn to frown. "Why would I hate you?"

"For all the things I did — the people I killed and—"

"James, no." Tony scooted to the edge of the couch — the only thing he could think of doing short of vaulting the coffee table to shake some sense into James. "I might not know the whole story of what you've been through, but it wasn't your fault. HYDRA _used_ you. They tortured you and—"

"That doesn't change what I did," James snapped. He glared defiantly at Tony. "All those people are dead because of me." His voice cracked, something infinitely sad coming over his face. "Anthony, you don't understand. It's not just strangers that I've killed. I—"

"Right now, I don't care," Tony interrupted, sharper than James deserved. "I understand that there are things we're going to have to work through. I get that. But not right now." He took a deep breath, looking pleadingly at James. "Right now, you need to rest. Can you do that for me? I promise you we'll talk later, but rest first, okay?"

James clearly wanted to object, but eventually nodded. He looked exhausted, his skin pale and hair beginning to loosen from the bun at the back of his neck.

He cleared his throat, looking shyly at Tony. "What chapter are we on?" he asked.

Tony blinked, needing a second before he caught on. Once he had, he pulled out his phone and opened the e-book app. " _Prisoner of Azkaban_ , chapter five," he replied once the page had loaded.

If being read to would help James relax, Tony would provide.

He leaned back on the couch and threw his feet up onto the coffee table, making himself comfortable. James followed Tony's example and sank lower, getting settled against the soft cushions. The smile on his face was heartbreakingly grateful and as soon as Tony started reading, James closed his eyes in obvious bliss. Despite what he had been through only a couple of hours earlier, James managed to look surprisingly peaceful.

Reading to James felt achingly familiar, but the setup did not.

Tony wasn't used to seeing James's face when he read — the way he smiled at Tony's attempts at a British accent, and the small nuances of his facial expressions that showed just how invested he was in the story.

Tony wasn't used to seeing James's face, _period_.

Of course he'd wondered what James looked like during the two months they'd been talking, but this wasn't what he had pictured. Tony had always thought that James was older than him. And while that was technically true — the man had been born the same year as Tony's father, bizarrely enough — he was still younger. He _looked_ younger, if nothing else.

Tony was far from disappointed — James Barnes was _gorgeous_ — but he was a little thrown all the same. He really hadn't expected this, and wasn't entirely sure how to handle the situation.

First of all, Tony hadn't really been involved in Steve's search for his best friend to any major degree. He hadn't felt it was his place to meddle — not when Steve already had Sam and Nat helping — and therefore knew very little about the situation as a whole. Second, he had a hard time merging the two Jameses inside his head. His dad had told him stories about Captain America and his best friend, the brave Sergeant Barnes, but the James Tony knew — the one he had spent two months getting to know — was different. And neither of them seemed capable of the carnage the Winter Soldier was known for causing.

What Tony _did_ know was that James Buchanan Barnes needed help. Untangling the web of torture, death, and brainwashing that surrounded the Winter Soldier was no doubt going to be difficult, but James deserved a second chance. So much had been taken from him and he shouldn't be blamed for what he had been forced to do while in HYDRA's clutches.

James deserved to be saved.

And, if James let him, Tony was going to do everything within his power to help him get his life back, one piece at a time.

Tony woke to the smell of coffee. He blinked, momentarily confused as to where he was, but it all cleared when he saw the empty couch opposite to him. James had fallen asleep in the middle of chapter six and Tony had decided to stay with him, just in case, but must have nodded off shortly after.

After a wide yawn Tony pushed back the blanket spread out on top of him and sat up. He knew he hadn't placed it there himself and searched for any trace of the wayward Mr. Barnes. Judging by the smell of coffee, the kitchen was his safest bet.

Tony got to his feet and barely managed to hold back a groan when his back complained. He was getting too old to be sleeping on couches, apparently. After running a hand through his hair — and another yawn — he shuffled towards the kitchen.

As expected, James was there, sitting by the kitchen island with a cup of coffee and a newspaper. Tony had no idea where James might have gotten an actual paper edition from, but he was grateful that the man had decided to wear a t-shirt — it was too early in the morning for Tony to be able to ogle him properly.

"Mornin'," James greeted, looking surprisingly at home in Tony's kitchen.

"Morning," Tony muttered back, shuffling over to the coffee maker. He stifled another yawn.

Once he had filled a cup he took a seat opposite to James, giving him a somewhat sleep-drunk once-over. "How are you feeling today?"

"Better," James replied. His metal fingers clicked against the ceramic of his coffee cup, the sound strangely familiar. Tony paused, realizing he'd heard it several times during their phone calls. While James probably wasn't able to use his phone with his left hand — the screen not built to respond to metal — touching its hard surface still caused a characteristic clicking.

"Good," Tony said. "The more you rest, the quicker you'll heal."

"I heal pretty fast either way." James shrugged.

"That doesn't mean you should push yourself," Tony chastised. He took a sip from his coffee. "The doctor told you to rest."

James didn't reply, his gaze straying back to the newspaper spread out over the countertop. The silence was distinctly uncomfortable but Tony wasn't sure how to break it. He focused on his coffee instead and kept himself busy reading the upside-down articles in James's newspaper.

"We should talk," James said all of a sudden, jaw clenched and shoulders tense.

Tony would rather not, but he had promised James that they would, as long as he saw a doctor first. James had upheld his end of the deal, so Tony better do the same. He wasn't going to be enthusiastic about it, though.

"Okay. Shoot."

After a deep breath, James started speaking. "I knew it was never going to be easy, tellin' you who I am. I thought... A part of me hoped I wouldn't have to. That you wouldn't know who the Winter Soldier was and we could just..." He shrugged.

"Pretend it never happened?" Tony suggested.

James swallowed thickly and nodded. "I know that's impossible. It's just that ever since I broke free, the only thing I've really wanted is to feel normal again." He rubbed a hand over his face, bracing his elbows against the kitchen island. "I don't want any part of this. Avengers or HYDRA or whatever. I want to forget about all of that. I just want a life. A regular life."

Tony's throat seized up. He couldn't give James that. Tony was Iron Man and he was friends with Steve Rogers — if James stayed with him, he would inevitably get pulled into Avengers' business, just like Pepper had been.

If James wanted normal, he and Tony had no future.

"And while I always knew you were everythin' but average, I didn't think..." James never finished the sentence, so Tony did it for him.

"That I was Iron Man."

James nodded, staring down at his clasped hands, the knuckles of his flesh hand white from how tightly clenched they were.

That hurt. That hurt a great deal.

Tony could admit that when James had told him they needed to talk, he hadn't expected it to be _this_ kind of talk — that he'd be getting dumped before they even started dating.

Tony was more than willing to give the budding romance between them a try, Winter Soldier or not, but he couldn't force James to live in a world he wanted no part of. It hadn't worked with Pepper and it wouldn't work with James, either.

He'd been right. Tony had been absolutely right when he told Pepper that James wouldn't want him as soon as he found out who he really was. Something clenched deep in the pit of Tony's stomach, but he ignored it, pushing down the pain. James didn't need to see that — he'd been through enough already. He should be able to cut ties without Tony making a scene. James deserved better than that.

"Hey, it's okay," Tony said instead, congratulating himself when his voice didn't crack. He smiled, even if he knew it had to look fake. "I understand. This kind of life isn't for everyone, and I would never make you do anything—"

"It's not just that," James interrupted. When their gazes met, Tony almost flinched.

James looked so pale — as if ready to faint — grief and regret in his eyes. Dread began to rise within Tony. Something was very, very wrong and it didn't seem to have to do with the impossibility of their relationship. This was something else.

There was too much _agony_ in James's gaze.

James took a deep, trembling breath. "I've killed people. That was bad enough when you were just Anthony, but now that I know who you are, I gotta—"

"You don't have to do anything, James," Tony interrupted in a feeble attempt to delay the conversation — and curb the fear growing in the pit of his stomach. He was pretty sure he didn't want to know what James had to say.

"I do. I _have_ to tell you," James persisted — _pleaded_. Tears were beginning to gather in his eyes and Tony had to remind himself how to breathe. "I can't keep this from you. I'm the one who ki—"

"NO," Tony snapped. "I don't want to hear it. Whatever you're trying to say, I don't need to hear it — ever."

James ignored him, the words pouring out of him as if he simply couldn't hold them back anymore. "December 16th 1991, Long Island. My mission was to obtain—"

Tony rose so quickly that his chair toppled over and clattered to the floor. He couldn't bring himself to leave, though. His heart was racing in his chest, blood rushing in his ears, and he just couldn't stop staring at the devastated look on James's face.

The silence was deafening.

It was James who broke it.

"I'm so sorry." His voice was shaking. "If I had known who you were from the beginning, I would never have—"

Finally, the shock loosened its grip just enough for Tony to be able to move. His chest was tight, grief and confusion and nausea clawing through him until he thought it might just tear him apart.

Without a word, he turned on his heel and fled the kitchen.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry? But you knew it had to happen. They had to bring this up at some point — it would have been unrealistic if they hadn't. Soooo yeah. Things are going to get painful from here on out, but also better. Rock bottom, and all that.
> 
> Also, you're probably going to notice that Bucky and Tony do an impressive amount of talking in this fic, but I figured that was reasonable seeing how they got to know each other. They've been discussing their problems with each other for two months, so they're more open than they usually would be. I quite like it. They should talk more often.
> 
> I hope you're having fun so far! <3


	3. A Guest in the Tower

 

* * *

 

It took Tony longer to calm down than he would have liked.

He locked himself in his bedroom and allowed the torrent of emotions to wash over him. The majority of it was grief, but there was also a whole lot of anger, even if he knew that wasn't fair. James hadn't been aware of what he was doing. He'd been brainwashed and tortured and forced to kill. Even if two of his victims happened to have been Tony's parents, it still wasn't James's fault.

That was difficult to swallow.

A part of him wanted to hate James for what had happened, but Tony suspected that feeling would pass once the shock settled. Whoever had killed his parents back in 1991, it wasn't the same man Tony had been talking to these past two months. That man — who made Tony laugh and made him feel so incredibly special — would never have done something like that.

James would never have killed Tony's parents, had he been given a choice.

Tony took a deep breath, shifting where he sat on the floor, back pressed against his bedroom door. He needed to know what had happened, not just because it was in his nature to pull at every thread and poke at every wound until it bled relentlessly, but because he _had_ to.

He had to know what James knew, otherwise this would never work.

"JARVIS." Tony's voice sounded rougher than he had expected and he hastily cleared his throat. "I want you to look through the HYDRA information that was dumped after D.C. Look for anything involving my father or Long Island in 1991."

"Yes, Sir," JARVIS replied, though he apparently saw it fitting to add a careful question as well. "Is that wise?"

Tony thumped his head against the door — hard — and sighed. "Probably not. But I need to know."

"Very well."

A silence settled. Tony closed his eyes and forced himself to relax. This really wasn't what he had pictured his and James's first meeting to be like. Even _after_ he had found out that James was the Winter Soldier, he hadn't thought he'd have this kind of bomb dropped on him.

Then again, he could admit that he preferred hearing about it now rather than later. If James had tried to keep the truth from him, Tony would no doubt have felt betrayed on top of the grief and anger.

James had, all things considered, showed a lot of bravery by insisting on telling Tony, no matter if it hurt them both — or brought an end to whatever relationship they might have had. As much as Tony wished it hadn't been necessary, James had done the right thing.

"JARVIS?"

"The search is not yet complete, Sir," JARVIS replied.

"No, I know." Tony swallowed and looked up at the ceiling, concern curling in his gut. "Has James left the tower?"

He wouldn't be surprised if James had, either out of guilt or fear of retribution. Tony couldn't say if he would have stayed, had their roles been reversed.

"No, Sir, though he seems to be considering it," JARVIS replied. "Should I prevent him from leaving the premises?"

"Jesus, no." Tony rubbed a hand over his eyes. He couldn't force James to stay if he didn't want to. "No, just... let me know if he does."

"Of course, Sir."

With that out of the way, Tony settled in to wait. He probably wouldn't want to see whatever JARVIS found — if he found anything at all — but Tony knew that what he _didn't_ know could be used as a potential weapon against him later. Ignorance was a weakness and Tony was _not_ going to fall for it.

That didn't mean that he didn't feel nauseous when JARVIS eventually provided him with a file on his parents' murder and — to Tony's horror — a video. He knew he shouldn't watch it. Not just for his own sake, but for James's and his parents'.

Did Tony really want his memory of them to be soiled by whatever was on that recording? Wasn't reading about it enough? How much was he willing to put himself through?

"Sir," JARVIS said, more carefully than usual, "may I suggest that you leave this decision for later?"

Tony had relocated to his bed by then, reading the documents on one of his tablets. He sighed at JARVIS's suggestion, running a frustrated hand through his hair.

"Wouldn't it be better if I knew?" he asked. "The fewer surprises people can throw at me, the better."

He felt an almost morbid kind of curiosity as well. How had his parents died? What had the Winter Soldier done to them? Just how badly had they been hurt? Tony wanted to know how angry he should be — how much pain he would be allowed to inflict, if he ever felt like exacting revenge.

His thoughts came to a screeching halt, bile rising at the back of his throat. Was Tony really that far gone? The only one he had available to punish would be James, and he couldn't do that, could he?

Tony had been there, numerous times, during the nights when James had succumbed to the guilt and grief. He _knew_ James regretted what he had done — that he suffered daily from the flashbacks and memories haunting him. He'd listened to the heartbreaking sobs and soothed James's panic attacks, and if there was one thing Tony knew for certain, it was that the last thing James deserved was more pain.

"That is up to you, Sir." JARVIS sounded disapproving, though.

Tony swallowed down the bitter taste lingering on his tongue and pushed the tablet away.

"No, you're right." He rubbed his hands over his face, trying to calm his breathing. He couldn't go down that road. Vengeance wouldn't help — not in this case. Hurting James wouldn't bring his parents back, and it certainly wouldn't make any of this easier to deal with.

Tony sighed and fell back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling.

Usually, this was where he would call James. In the past two months, James had become the person Tony turned to when he was feeling bad. What was he supposed to do when James was the one who had hurt him, however involuntarily?

"Where's James?" he asked, voice frail and near cracking in the quiet room.

JARVIS would have told him if James had left the tower, but roughly two hours must have passed since Tony had rushed out of the kitchen, and he wasn't going to assume James was still in the same room.

"Sergeant Barnes is in the guest room," JARVIS replied.

Tony swallowed. "Does he look okay?"

"No, Sir, he does not."

Of course he wouldn't. James was probably having the same problem Tony was — the one he usually turned to when upset was the one person he couldn't see.

What a fine pair they made.

Usually, Tony would simply have pushed all the emotions down and pretended nothing was wrong, but he'd gotten used to having someone to talk to. It felt suffocating to not be able to tell James what was bothering him, Tony's skin crawling with restlessness and suppressed grief. Considering his history, Tony had a feeling he shouldn't be alone right now — not when he had a fully stocked bar in the living room — but there was no one else in the tower.

He couldn't go to James, could he? That would only complicate things.

Tony shouldn't.

"Oh, who am I kidding?" Tony muttered. He rose from the bed and marched towards his bedroom door before he had time to change his mind.

It didn't take long at all to walk down the hall to the guest room. Fortunately, Tony remembered his manners in time and knocked rather than just burst into the room; he suspected it was a bad idea to barge in on the Winter Soldier.

Tony waited impatiently for the door to open, which it eventually did, to reveal a tense James on the other side. He looked absolutely miserable and seemed to be bracing for either a verbal or physical attack, judging by his raised shoulders and wary eyes.

This was probably a bad idea, but Tony didn't care.

"I'm not okay yet," he said, catching James's gaze and holding it firmly. "I'm still upset. I have no idea what I'll be feeling tomorrow or even an hour from now, but I _do_ know that I really need a hug. And I think you do too." A lump was beginning to form in Tony's throat and he could feel the sting of tears, even if he tried to hold them back. "How about we do something to fix that?"

James stood frozen for a second, staring at Tony as if he couldn't believe what he was hearing, then nodded. He looked a little dazed, but not necessarily in a bad way — there was hope and relief in the way his shoulders lowered, ever so slightly. James took a step back and opened the door wider, then wordlessly spread his arms in invitation.

Tony needed no further encouragement.

He stepped into James's embrace, burying his face against his neck and wrapping his arms around James's waist. It felt just as good as Tony had hoped. For weeks now he had wondered what it would be like to hug James, and he was not disappointed. James held him as if Tony was something precious beyond words — something he wanted to protect and treasure with all his might.

Despite trying not to cry, Tony felt his breath hitch from a sob. It was disarming to finally have James's arms around him — the one person Tony had dared to open up to in the past couple of months — and, at the same time, know that James was the one who had killed Tony's parents.

Tony was probably allowed to feel both confused and conflicted about that.

"I'm sorry," James whispered, his voice breaking. "I'm so sorry, Anthony."

Tony couldn't think of a decent reply and simply settled for squeezing tighter, his breaths coming in choked, sobbing bursts. James's hand wandered into Tony's hair, his fingers ever so gentle, and the show of tenderness only made Tony cry harder.

It felt like he might never stop.

They didn't really talk — finding words was far too difficult.

James carefully relocated them to the guest bed, but after that both of them were too exhausted to do much else than simply lie there. Tony didn't complain. He was wrung out from the crying and the emotional rollercoaster he'd been on, and lying wrapped up in James's arms was quite lovely. Perhaps it was the comforting thump of James's heartbeat against his palm, or simply the warmth of another human being, but Tony started dozing off, despite having woken up only a couple of hours earlier.

He floated between sleep and wakefulness for what felt like a couple of minutes, but had to be much more going by the light in the room. In between blinks, the shadows seemed to change shape, becoming long and slanted. Tony didn't care if he was sleeping the day away and instead stayed curled up next to James on the bed, his nose brushing James's collarbone.

Tony wasn't sure of the last time he had felt so safe and relaxed.

When he finally became more aware of his surroundings, it was thanks to careful fingers stroking his hair. He could tell that James didn't mean to wake him, the touch so soft and reverent it almost seemed stolen — as if James didn't know if he would dare to touch Tony when they both were awake and aware.

Tony yawned and burrowed closer, which made James stiffen and pull his hand back. A guilty silence hung in the room.

That wouldn't do.

"Don't stop," Tony slurred.

Hesitantly, the stroking returned and Tony hummed with contentment. James grew a little bolder at that, his fingers combing through Tony's locks with actual intent.

"I thought your hair would be lighter," James whispered. The words were shy, as if James wasn't sure if he should be revealing details about what he'd thought Tony would look like. "Light brown or blond."

Tony chuckled. "Oh, god, no," he mumbled, his smile hidden against James's t-shirt. He let his arm slide around James's waist instead of keeping it folded up between them. "I tried blond during my rebellious teenage years and, trust me, it's not a good look for me."

"I like it just the way it is," James replied, reverence in his voice. "It's soft."

"And messy."

"That, too," James agreed fondly. His back was broad and strong underneath Tony's palm, and blessedly relaxed.

"I thought you'd be older," Tony said, absently tracing James's shoulder blade. He yawned. "Older than me, I mean."

James seemed to hesitate for a second. "Well, I _am_."

Tony took a deep breath before pulling back, just enough to meet James's gaze. "And at the same time you aren't," he said.

It was difficult to interpret the look on James's face, but he didn't seem upset, thankfully enough. As opposed to Tony, he was wide awake, but there was something undeniably soft and tender in his eyes all the same.

James reached out and carefully traced a line down Tony's cheek with his thumb. "I thought you'd be less handsome."

Tony blinked, not having expected that. "What? You thought I'd be ugly?" He wasn't sure whether to feel flattered or insulted.

"No, of course not," James hastily replied, looking a little sheepish. His thumb followed the line of Tony's jaw, scratching against his goatee. "It's just... you don't usually expect people you know to look like movie stars."

Tony grinned. "You think I look like a movie star?"

A beat passed, then another, and James just kept staring at him, as if committing his features to memory. Then he took a deep, slow breath, the tip of his thumb shifting just enough to brush against Tony's bottom lip, sending a shiver of warmth down Tony's spine.

"I think you're one of the most handsome men I've ever met." The way James said the words — with absolute sincerity — made Tony's chest constrict. "And one of the kindest, most considerate human beings I've ever had the privilege of talkin' to."

There was lump in Tony's throat and a subtle burn behind his eyelids, but he tried to ignore both.

"You must have pretty low standards, then, because—"

"You're beautiful." James spoke right over him, with so much certainty that Tony wasn't sure if he could disagree.

The lump grew and Tony had to close his eyes against the gathering tears. He felt stupid for reacting at all — he'd been complimented before — but he had to admit that it was different when coming from James. Unlike the rest of the world, James had gotten to know him as a person long before he found out who Tony really was. Even Rhodey, Pepper, and Happy had known Tony by reputation before they became his friends.

James had seen more of who Tony really was than anyone else, uninfluenced by rumors and the media. He might not be the person who _knew_ Tony best, but he was, in many ways, the least biased.

"I just wanted you to know," James continued, voice low, "before you..."

Tony opened his eyes and frowned when he saw the look on James's face — the sad but determined acceptance. "Before I what?"

James didn't reply, at least not right away, and when he eventually did, he avoided meeting Tony's gaze. "I won't blame you," he said, which only made Tony more confused.

"James, seriously — I'm not following."

To Tony's dismay, James carefully started pulling away, as if getting ready to leave the bed. Tony, in his desperation, clenched his hand in the fabric of James's shirt, keeping him in place. It looked to be with great reluctance that James met Tony's gaze, his blue eyes full of anguish.

"Anthony, after what I did—"

"You didn't do anything," Tony interrupted. He might have been upset when he had first gotten the news, but there wasn't much anger left now that he'd calmed down. Tony couldn't hold James responsible — not when he had barely been aware of what he was doing. HYDRA were the ones who had called the shots and _they_ were the ones to blame, not James. "HYDRA was controlling you."

For some reason, James didn't seem to agree. "It's not that simple," he replied, teeth gritted. "You don't know what I've done."

"There's a video."

James froze, his eyes widening in horror. "What?" Even that one word was faint, near cracking.

"You were caught on a surveillance camera during—"

This time Tony had no hope of holding on when James tore free and practically scrambled out of the bed. His chest was heaving from panic, his face pale as he backed away.

"No, no, no, no, no," James whispered like a desperate mantra, metal fingers gripping his hair.

"I didn't watch it." The words didn't seem to register and Tony quickly crawled to the edge of the bed. "James, I didn't watch it."

James still wasn't listening and Tony stumbled to his feet, reaching out towards him. "James, sweetheart. I didn't watch it." It hurt to see James flinch away from him, but Tony knew it wasn't personal — or hoped it wasn't, at least. "James, please!"

The only sound within the room was James's harsh breaths. He rubbed a shaking hand over his face, his teeth tightly clenched.

"How much do you remember?" Tony asked carefully. He kept his distance for now, even if he was itching to reach out and pull James into his arms.

"I don't—" James shook his head. "Not much. I know... I know I did it. I remember—" His breath hitched, the panic hanging thick in the air. "I can't— I don't—"

"James. Sweetheart." Tony stepped closer but made sure to move slowly. "Breathe. Just breathe. It's fine."

"It's not fine!" James snarled, eyes wild.

Tony couldn't help flinching at the sudden outburst. James's face immediately crumpled, guilt and shame replacing the anger.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I-I'm so sorry."

After a deep breath, Tony made another attempt. "I forgive you, James." He stepped closer and gently put his hand on James's arm, feeling the tense muscles twitch underneath his palm. "You hear me? I forgive you."

James shook his head, but he didn't pull away. "You shouldn't. Not after what—"

"It's mine to give." Tony spoke firmly, daring to reach out and wrap his fingers around James's metal wrist. "I know you killed my parents—" Tony's voice nearly broke, but he kept going, "—and I forgive you. HYDRA made you do it. I _know_ you, James. You wouldn't do something like that."

After a gentle tug from Tony, James's grip on his hair finally loosened and Tony twined their fingers together. The metal was slightly cooler than Tony's skin, but not uncomfortably so.

James looked exhausted. His gaze was fixed on the floor, his shoulders slumped, and Tony felt a surge of compassion. Gently, ever so carefully, he reached up with his other hand and stroked James's cheek. His stubble was coarse against Tony's palm and Tony could feel James relax under his touch.

"I forgive you," Tony repeated, voice soft.

A shudder went through James. His breaths were still much too shallow and he swayed towards Tony, as if searching for his warmth and support. Tony was more than willing to give it.

James didn't protest when Tony's hand curled around the back of his neck and he followed willingly when he was pulled closer. The moment James's forehead came to rest against Tony's shoulder, he seemed to slump with relief. Without hesitation, Tony wrapped his arms around James and held on.

It was James's turn to cry.

Tony sat on the couch, staring unseeingly out at the New York skyline. Night had fallen, the city lights twinkling, but inside Tony's living room everything was dark and quiet. The entire day had passed and Tony couldn't say for sure what he had done during it. Slept, mostly, which was highly unusual for him, but quite understandable when one took into account just how much he'd been through.

James was still sleeping.

After his breakdown, James had followed Tony's example and fallen into exhausted sleep. Since rest was exactly what the doctor had ordered, Tony hadn't wanted to wake him even if he grew too fretful to stay.

A part of Tony felt mean for having left James all on his own in the guest room, but he needed time to think. He didn't regret what he had told James — he really did forgive him — but that didn't mean that all the conflicting emotions had miraculously faded. There was still enough grief and anger to make Tony's throat tighten.

But he wasn't angry at _James_ — that was the difference. He was angry at HYDRA, both for killing Tony's parents and for putting James through years of brainwashing and torture. James's paranoia and nightmares made perfect sense now. Not that they hadn't before, but now Tony knew more — he knew enough to understand why James was so terrified, and why he was wracked by guilt.

Tony sighed and rested his head against the back of the couch, staring up at the ceiling.

It wasn't too late to save him, though — James had done a really good job of that already. He must have been living under the radar for months, trying to have as much of a normal life as someone in his position could.

James deserved that. He deserved a life free of suffering.

It hurt to know that Tony couldn't be there by his side — James had made it clear that he wanted no part in the kind of life Tony led — but Tony could still do everything in his power to help him. He could arrange a safe place where James could live and give him access to accounts HYDRA wouldn't be able to trace. With money like Tony's, he could buy James a whole new life — the life he so desperately wanted.

The fact that Tony had no place in it, well, he'd simply have to accept that. If helping James meant letting him go, then that was what Tony would do, no matter how much it hurt.

There was nothing Tony wouldn't do for James.

Tony jumped in surprise when a plate was set down next to his elbow, almost making him drop his soldering iron. He stared up at James, not having expected company.

"Sorry," James apologized, looking sheepish. "I figured you were hungry."

After a slow blink, Tony looked back down at the plate and the three slices of pizza he was being offered. It was his favorite, which surprised him somewhat.

"I asked JARVIS what you'd like," James explained. He looked awkward standing in Tony's workshop, hands shoved into his pockets and shoulders raised, as if afraid he'd break something. His gaze was curious as it wandered over Tony's numerous projects, though, and there was both awe and interest on his face.

Tony cleared his throat. "Yeah, thanks."

Now that James mentioned it, they hadn't eaten at all. Sometimes Tony needed a reminder, but the one who usually did it was still in California, looking for his elusive best friend.

Tony put his soldering iron away and pulled the plate closer. "When did you wake up?" he asked.

"About an hour ago," James replied. He sounded much more relaxed now, even with his tense shoulders and the dark shadows under his eyes. "I got hungry."

"I should probably have thought of that. I'm a terrible host." Tony took a bite of his pizza and held back a satisfied groan. He was _starving_.

To Tony's surprise, his comment earned him a brief laugh. It didn't sound quite like the ones he had gotten used to while he and James were still talking over the phone, but it was better than nothing.

"I'm grateful as long as you don't kick me out."

Tony looked up, pizza halfway to his mouth. "I wouldn't do that," he said. "James, you can stay here as long as you like."

James wouldn't meet his gaze, but he seemed bashful rather than upset. "Does your generosity know no bounds?" he asked.

No one had ever called Tony generous before and actually meant it, and Tony wasn't entire sure how to reply. He decided to change the subject instead.

"Could you get me a bottle of water from the mini-fridge?"

As far as evasion tactics went it was a bit lacking, Tony could admit. Judging by the look on James's face, he seemed to agree. He still did as asked, walking over to the mini-fridge in the small kitchenette.

While James fetched some water, Tony took the opportunity to eat more pizza. He glanced at the little clock displayed on one of his many screens, not the least bit surprised to find it was 2 AM already.

"Here."

Tony looked up at the bottle James was holding out toward him and tapped the workbench with his finger. James tilted his head to the side but placed the bottle where Tony had indicated.

"How do you feel?" Tony asked, nodding toward James's side. The bandage might be hidden, but they both knew there were bullet wounds underneath James's t-shirt.

"It hurts less." James leaned his hip against Tony's workbench, apparently intent on sticking around. Tony was a little surprised but certainly didn't mind.

Tony uncapped the bottle and took a sip, well aware of James's gaze as he did.

"Are you going to watch the video?"

The question took Tony by surprise and he couldn't help stiffening. He placed the water bottle on his workbench and met James's gaze. There was firmness there, but also a lot of fear.

After a careful exhale, Tony replied, "Not if you don't want me to."

A part of him was still masochistically curious, but he couldn't say that he was eager to watch whatever was on that surveillance video. He didn't want to see someone wearing James's face murder his parents. Knowing it had happened and having read about it was bad enough. He didn't have to see it too.

James was staring at the floor, his jaw working. "Can I see it?"

Tony blinked, somehow even _less_ prepared for that question. "What?"

"If I want to see it, will you show me?"

There was no correct response. Tony was all for making your own choices, but he wasn't sure if James was trying to punish himself or glean a moment from his past. In the end, Tony's protective instincts won out.

"No." He shook his head. "I don't think you should see it any more than I should."

James clearly didn't like that answer. "I should know what I did to them. I should never be allowed to forget—"

"James, no." Tony got up from his chair and held out his hands. "Just no. That's not going to happen. I'm not going to let you watch a video of my parents getting murdered just so you can feed your guilt."

It looked like James might have wanted to flinch, but held back the impulse through sheer force of will.

Tony continued before James had time to give a reply. "My parents deserve better. _You_ deserve better."

James averted his gaze, but his shoulders slumped in defeat. He didn't say anything and Tony didn't push. He'd rather leave the subject behind, to be honest, and do something more productive with their time. After a split second of consideration, Tony fished out his phone and opened the e-book reader. He then pushed it into James's hands before sitting back down.

"I think it's your turn to read to me," he said, picking up his half-eaten slice of pizza.

James stared at Tony, clearly taken by surprise, and it took him a couple of seconds before he got with the program. He looked down at the phone in his hand and awkwardly cleared his throat.

When James eventually started reading, perched on the edge of Tony's workbench and eyes focused on the text before him, Tony finally understood why James liked this so much. The sound of James's voice echoing in the otherwise quiet workshop was both comforting and mesmerizing, and Tony allowed himself to get swept up by it, a soft, fond smile lingering on his lips.

He knew this feeling of safety and belonging wouldn't last forever, but was definitely going to cherish it for as long as possible. At least for a little while, Tony decided to exist in blissful ignorance.

In the days that followed, Tony tried his best not to think about his parents. It was near impossible, though, with James's reveal having torn up such old, nasty wounds. Tony felt raw, the grief lingering like a bad taste at the back of his tongue. Even after he told JARVIS to delete the recording of his parents' murder — mostly to keep James from trying to gain access to it when Tony wasn't looking — the feeling remained. Sometimes it was difficult to breathe with the weight of loss bearing down on him, but he did his best to hide it.

He didn't want to make James feel more guilty than he already did.

Besides, things were difficult enough as they were.

There was a tension between the two of them now that hadn't been there before, as if they were suddenly strangers, awkwardly trying to navigate an entirely new relationship. Words got stuck in their throats, sentences unfinished, and touching didn't seem to come easy to either of them. They almost seemed afraid of hurting each other and each brush of fingertips or accidental bump was followed by tense silence. A couple of times James even flinched when Tony touched him, as if he'd been exposed to a live wire.

No matter how hard Tony tried, he couldn't swallow down the flash of hurt that caused.

And the silence just kept growing heavier and heavier.

For each new day at the Avengers Tower, James seemed to become just a little more skittish. He clearly couldn't relax, perhaps because he feared that Steve might find him there, even if Tony gave him regular updates and assured him that Steve was still in L.A. Or perhaps it was HYDRA that had him so on edge. Even if they had been dragged into the open back in D.C., they hadn't disappeared entirely and clearly posed a big enough threat that they had almost caught James once already.

If Tony was honest, he expected to wake up one morning and find that James had left. It seemed like the only things keeping James in the tower were his gunshot wounds — though they were pretty much healed by the fourth day — and whatever loyalty he felt to Tony. And, seeing as the latter probably wouldn't hold out for very long now that James knew who Tony was, it was only a matter of time before James moved on.

Tony didn't know what to do. He desperately wanted James to stay — for him to give Tony a chance to help him get back on his feet and combat all those demons he was carrying — but James had made it abundantly clear he wasn't interested in being dragged into the chaos surrounding the Avengers. Tony didn't blame him. If he had been through the kind of things James had, he was pretty sure he'd opt for peace and quiet as well.

So Tony did his best to prepare for the inevitable heartbreak.

He felt foolish and needy whenever he sought out James's company or invited James to join him in the workshop. Tony knew he was clinging to something that would never, ever be his, but he couldn't help it. He wanted to make as many memories as possible before James disappeared out of his life, because it might be the only thing that could fill the void that would be left in James's wake.

James indulged him, always with the same careful little smile, as if he wasn't sure what expression was suitable. That didn't help ease Tony's anxiety at all. By the fourth day, he was beginning to suspect that _he_ was the thing making James so skittish.

Tony knew that James's recovery was at stake — this whole ordeal had no doubt pushed him back several months — but it was still painful. Tony had been so proud to be the person James confided in, to know that he could offer someone comfort and guidance despite whatever the tabloids said about him. Knowing that he'd lost that trust was a hard blow — harder than Tony had expected.

James still talked to him and smiled at him, but he was noticeably more guarded now. He was less willing to explain how he was feeling and often seemed to shrink in on himself, his jokes few and far between. Whatever he and Tony had shared in the past couple of months obviously wasn't as strong as Tony had thought. Far too often James's gaze would glaze over, becoming flat and distant, as if he was somewhere else entirely.

Tony desperately wanted to help, but his presence didn't seem to make much of a difference. With sudden, crushing clarity Tony realized that he might even have become a hindrance.

So, despite the widening crack in his heart, Tony set about securing James's future, free of HYDRA and the Avengers and, most probably, Tony as well. Tony would be lying if he said it didn't hurt, but he also knew it was for the best. James deserved a normal life and he clearly couldn't have that with Tony — not only because he was an Avenger, but because James would no doubt still carry the guilt of having killed Tony's parents, even if Tony told him he forgave him.

No matter how much it hurt, it was obvious that Tony had to let James go, sooner rather than later — for James's sake.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly didn't plan for things to end up in this direction when I started writing this. I was aiming for a cute identity porn fic but got a painful recovery story instead. I fail.
> 
> I'll do a better identity porn fic at some point, I promise. In the meantime, enjoy the pain?


	4. A Ghost from the Past

 

* * *

 

Tony almost jumped in surprise when he walked in to find James sitting at the kitchen island, papers and open notebooks spread out across the polished surface. Tony had glanced at the clock before leaving the workshop in search for more coffee and, given that it was 4:23 AM, he'd thought James would be in bed.

"Oh, hi. I didn't know you were up," Tony said.

James flinched, looking up with wide, startled eyes.

"Aaand you clearly didn't expect me to be, either," Tony added, offering a crooked smile that probably looked more like a grimace. James didn't smile back.

"Sorry," James mumbled and quickly — _nervously_ — started gathering up his papers, heedless of them getting wrinkled or folded. Whatever was on them clearly wasn't for Tony's eyes.

Knowing that hurt, but Tony swallowed it down and headed for the coffee maker, pretending as if nothing was wrong. He caught a glimpse of the words scrawled across the pages, some in English, others in Russian, but James snatched them up before Tony got the chance to read them properly. There was also a brief flash of what looked like Steve's shield doodled in one of the margins.

"Don't move on my account," Tony said, forcing his tone to remain neutral. "I'll be heading back to my workshop soon. You can have the kitchen."

"No, I shouldn't—" James didn't finish the sentence, stopping so abruptly that Tony had to turn and look at him. There was far too much tension in James's shoulders — as if he was prepared to bolt out of the room — and he was staring down at the papers in his hands, his grip so tight that the pages crinkled.

"What's on them?" Tony asked, despite knowing full well that he shouldn't. Those notebooks and papers must have been in James's backpack, and they had to be extremely important if they were the only things James thought to grab when HYDRA was closing in on him.

James's flat stare made Tony flinch and almost take a step back. It would be wrong to say that James looked hostile, but there was definitely something guarded — almost accusatory — in his gaze. That was something Tony hadn't been prepared for. He could see James's walls slam shut and Tony hastily looked away, not wanting to be faced with that blank, impersonal mask James so often wore.

"Nothing."

The flatness of that one word cut deeper than Tony had expected. He could tell that he had interrupted something he shouldn't have — some kind of moment or ritual that James was very protective of — but he couldn't help wondering if that was the only thing he had done wrong. Why was James suddenly so determined to shut him out? He never had been before. Just two weeks ago James had been willing to share his thoughts and feelings even when he felt at his most vulnerable, but now he shoved Tony away as soon as they even brushed against more sensitive subjects.

Tony swallowed down the hurt and disappointment in favor of a smile. He knew it had to look fake, but what else could he do?

"I'll leave you to it, then," he said, nodding politely before beating a hasty retreat.

It wasn't until he was already standing in the elevator, heading back to the workshop, that he realized that he was still empty-handed. He couldn't even remember if he had gotten as far as starting the coffee machine or merely stood next to it.

Tony sighed and slumped back against the wall, ignoring the cheerful ping as the elevator arrived at the correct floor. He rubbed a hand down his face, teeth gritted as he fought to unravel the tight knot in his chest.

He must have done something. James was like a completely different person. It had to be Tony's fault somehow. Did James hate the Avengers that much? Or was it Tony himself who had disappointed? James had already admitted that Tony wasn't quite what he had expected, and perhaps he found more and more flaws as the days passed?

"How much longer, JARVIS?" Tony asked dully, his shoulders heavy with defeat.

"Two more days, Sir, then all the preparations will be complete."

Tony closed his eyes and focused on his breathing. It wasn't that he wanted James to leave — Tony had been prepared to ask him to stay forever — but he could tell that James was getting too restless. Whatever they had built over the past two months was crumbling and it was beyond Tony's ability to fix it.

"Good," he mumbled, swallowing thickly. "Keep me posted."

Tony startled awake at the sound of his phone ringing, almost falling off his chair in the process. It took him a couple of seconds to orient himself — he was in the workshop, having fallen asleep literally on top of his project, and a quick glance at the clock told him it was 10:21 AM. He wasn't sure how long he'd been asleep, but DUM-E had apparently seen it fit to drape a blanket over him at some point, which had now slid to the floor. Tony felt both cold and vulnerable without it.

He rubbed a hand over his face while reaching blindly for his phone with the other. It could be Pepper and she would just keep bothering him until he answered. Or maybe it was Wednesday and Rhodey was calling to check in.

The screen was annoyingly bright when Tony held up the phone in front of his face, but he still managed to read the name of who was trying to reach him. Tony frowned. Why was James calling him? They were in the same building. A split second later Tony realized something might have happened. Perhaps James needed help?

Tony quickly accepted the call, his heart in his throat. "James? Is everything alright?"

There was no mistaking the panic and concern in Tony's voice, but he felt he was excused. If James was in trouble, why hadn't JARVIS woken Tony up?

"Yeah, it's... everythin's fine," James replied, but he sounded hesitant enough that Tony didn't find much comfort in his words. "I just..."

Tony frowned, not knowing whether he should be staying put or running out of the workshop in search of James. This was highly unusual. Well, not the call — that was the norm for them, actually — but the fact that James did it even when they could be speaking in person.

"Are you sure?" Tony might not have gotten used to all of James's facial expressions yet, but he was an expert at reading James's voice. Something was troubling him, Tony just didn't know what.

"Yeah, 'm sure," James mumbled.

Tony kept his tone soft and unobtrusive. "Then why are you calling?"

He could hear James take a deep, trembling breath, as if bracing himself for what was to come. As if he had bad news to tell.

"I just thought it'd make it easier?"

Tony felt his stomach drop. This was it, wasn't it? James was leaving. James didn't want to stay at the tower anymore and they had reached the point where he would rather say goodbye over the phone than face to face. He was that uncomfortable in Tony's presence.

The pain in Tony's chest made it difficult to breathe, but he forced himself not to let it show in his voice. That was one benefit of it being a call, he supposed — it was easier to fake his responses.

"Whatever you need, James," Tony replied, swallowing around the lump in his throat.

What had he done to mess up this badly?

"It's my life," James croaked, as if the words were so painful he couldn't say them properly.

Tony braced his elbow against the worktable and covered his eyes with his hand. "Of course, James, you don't have to explain. I understand if—"

"I want to," James interrupted, firmer now. "I want you to know."

That was just cruel — Tony didn't want to know what he had done to push away another person he cared about — but he _had_ promised he'd do anything for James. So no matter how much it hurt, he would listen to what James had to say.

"Okay. Go ahead, sweetheart." The endearment just slipped out and Tony had to grit his teeth to hold back a pathetic, wounded little noise. He probably shouldn't be calling James that anymore.

James didn't hesitate, blurting out the words as if he had been waiting all day to get them off his chest. "I'm tryna piece together who I am, but it's... hard. It's just a jumbled mess and I don't know what's real and not." He paused for a second. "Writin' it down helps."

Tony froze; that wasn't what he had expected. He straightened in his chair, hand lowering from his eyes. Was James talking about the notebooks?

"If I write it down, it feels more real. I... I can't remember everthin' I did yet, but I'm tryin'." James's voice trembled. "I want to remember who I am. Who I _was_. I want to—" The sudden hitch in James's breath nearly broke Tony's heart.

"James—"

"'m sorry. For pushin' you away. I just..." James was definitely starting to get upset. Tony's free hand gripped the edge of the worktable, hard enough to hurt. "If you read what's on those papers, you'd hate me. I've killed _so many people_ and done so many horrible things and if you saw all that, I'd—"

James's voice broke.

Tony's chest felt so tight he could barely breathe. He'd apparently made all the wrong assumptions when it came to what James wanted to talk about, and Tony had no idea how to reassure him — if that was even possible. James sounded like he was working his way straight toward another panic attack.

It was comforting to know that James was still able to talk to Tony, though, even if it had to be over the phone. That meant the trust wasn't entirely gone. Maybe Tony could salvage this.

"James, I wouldn't," Tony replied hoarsely. "I could never hate you."

There was another quick, trembling breath from James, then a soft, desperate whisper that made Tony's heart clench with both joy and sympathy.

"I don't want to lose you."

Tony closed his eyes, placing a hand over his mouth to hold back any involuntary sounds.

James cleared his throat, obviously trying to keep his emotions in check. "I'm just _so afraid_. I'm—" He paused, if only for a split second. "I'm a _monster_. If you knew what I'd done you'd never forgive me and _I can't lose you_."

"You won't." Tony had no idea how he managed to say the words, let alone make them sound so steady. "I promise you won't lose me, James."

"'m not _tryin'_ to push you away, 'm just so, so afraid," James whispered thickly. He seemed to be forcing the words out, as if fearing he'd lose his courage and keep them all bottled up if he didn't. "Seein' you and talkin' to you scares me 'cause I know... I know I might lose you. It's _real_ now."

Listening to James was outright torture, but Tony knew better than to interrupt. He recognized the signs of James having carried something for far too long, agonizing about it and feeding his own guilt until it was a miracle that he could even think straight.

This was why James had been pulling away, afraid to touch and talk to Tony.

It was true that when they'd only spoken over the phone, their entire relationship had had a slightly surreal quality to it. They could say anything they wished and not be held accountable in the same way one would when speaking to someone face to face. They didn't have to worry about keeping up appearances and could much more easily hide tears and fake smiles.

Seeing James in person was different, no matter how much Tony wished it wasn't, and he could understand if it was an even more frightening experience for James. This was a man who had been turned into a ruthless assassin against his will through years of brutal torture, brainwashing, and systematic reprogramming. James had lost _everything_. Of course it scared him now that Tony knew about it and it would be foolish to think this new knowledge hadn't changed things between them.

It made sense that not having control made James terrified.

"I wish I could tell you everythin', but I can't." James sounded a little less panicked but still clearly upset. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

Tony took a deep breath. "Sweetheart, you don't have to tell me. It's okay."

"No. No, it's not." There was frustration in James's voice now. "You've been there for me, so many times, and I just... I pushed you away."

"That happens," Tony replied, trying to force his tense shoulders to lower. He was holding on to his phone with a much tighter grip than necessary. "This thing — being able to see you — as much as I love it, it's... It scares me too, James."

There was a stunned pause.

"It does?" James asked, voice frail yet hopeful, as if he desperately wanted someone to understand him.

"Yeah, it does. I mean, what if I'm not what you pictured?" Tony licked his lips. "What if you don't like me? What if..." He closed his eyes and forced himself to keep going, no matter how much it hurt to finish that sentence. He had to — for James's sake. "What if I'm not good enough? What if I'm not worth it?"

Those were words Tony had never before said out loud and his throat closed up the moment he had, wishing he could take them back. Wishing he could deny such a major chink in his otherwise well-constructed armor. Tony curled in on himself, pressing his forehead against his workbench. He was relieved knowing that James couldn't see just how badly that admission had affected him.

Who knew a couple of words could make Tony feel so vulnerable?

"Anthony..."

"I'm not saying I understand completely," Tony continued, ignoring the crack in his own voice, "but I'm scared too."

A silence settled between them, both of them too raw to speak. Tony could still hear James's breaths, though, the sound familiar enough to soothe some of Tony's anxiety. He'd missed this. Even if he and James had been in the same building for almost a week, James had never felt quite as far away as he had these past couple of days.

Tony had missed him.

"What do we do?"

Tony let out a slow breath when James's hesitant words reached him. That was the question, wasn't it?

"We get through it," Tony replied, voice soft. "Together. One step at a time."

James fell silent again and Tony wasn't entirely sure how to take that. He didn't push, though, waiting patiently for James's answer.

"Are you in the workshop?" James asked after a couple of seconds.

Tony felt a frail smile spread on his lips. "Yeah."

"Can I... can I come there?" James shouldn't sound so hesitant — especially not when asking for permission to enter the workshop. James was welcome anywhere in the tower.

Tony straightened, running a hand through his hair. "Of course, sweetheart."

"Okay." James exhaled, his voice growing stronger — more confident. "'m on my way."

"I'll be here," Tony replied.

Tony was still sitting at his worktable, phone loosely cradled in his hands, when the elevator doors slid open and James stepped into the workshop. Tony looked up, meeting James's gaze. There was still some hesitation there — James's eyes were red, showing how close he'd been to crying — but his steps were sure as he walked over to where Tony was seated.

James stopped within touching distance. "Hi," he said.

"Hi."

A second passed and Tony carefully put his phone down before turning his chair to fully face James. They stared at each other, the silence stretching out between them.

James opened his mouth as if to speak, then seemed to think better of it. Instead, he reached out, hand trembling, and stroked Tony's cheek. Tony couldn't help leaning into the touch. His eyes closed in reverence when those achingly careful fingers wandered further, combing through Tony's hair. The moment felt so frail and breathless, neither of them knowing what to do.

Then, between one heartbeat and the next, James's arms were wrapping around Tony's shoulders, holding him tight. Tony, in turn, hugged James's waist, desperate to be as close as physically possible.

"'m here," James whispered. "It's okay. We'll be okay."

Tony almost wanted to cry from the relief that washed over him. This was where he wanted to be. He wasn't sure if anything could ever measure up to the feeling of being in James's embrace — to have someone hold him as if he actually mattered. As if he was irreplaceable.

As if he belonged.

Tony buried his face against James's clothed chest and breathed him in. James smelled of coffee, laundry detergent, and something else Tony couldn't quite define.

Given time, he'd probably decide to call it _home_.

"Sir, Sergeant Barnes is on his way."

Tony, who was on his knees trying to pull a file box out from underneath the bottom shelf of his workshop's storage space, didn't bother to look up.

"Good," he replied. "Be there in a sec."

He managed to crook his finger through the handle and drag the box closer, coughing when it stirred up a fine layer of dust. He should probably make an effort to clean more often. The box was soon free of the shelf and Tony smiled triumphantly when he saw the sloppy scrawl on top of the lid. He quickly got to his feet and grabbed the box, stepping back into the main room of his workshop.

"What's James's ETA?" Tony asked as he headed for one of his workbenches.

"About thirty seconds, Sir," JARVIS replied.

That meant very little time to come up with an appropriate speech, but perhaps that was just as well. Tony did some of his best work when he improvised.

Tony placed the cardboard box on the table and wondered, not for the first time, if this really was such a great plan. He'd gotten the idea after their conversation the day before and, while it might help, it could also push James's recovery back even further. Still, it was too late to turn back now and Tony knew that James deserved to at least have this as an option.

The elevator doors opened and James stepped out. He was wearing a dark grey hoodie — once again stolen from Steve's closet — and was freshly showered judging by the slight dampness of his hair. Tony couldn't help wondering what it would feel like to run his fingers through it. He could usually curb such urges, seeing as James often kept his hair tied back and out of Tony's reach, but it was a lot more difficult when those dark, soft-looking tresses hung loose like this.

"You wanted to see me?" James had his hands tucked into the pocket of the hoodie, his posture relaxed. He seemed less afraid to meet Tony's gaze now, but there was still a hint of lingering awkwardness between them.

Tony hoped that would pass within a not too distant future — if James stayed long enough for it to do so.

"Yes, I did." Tony turned to face James and placed his palm flat against the lid of the file box. "About this."

James stiffened, looking warily at the box. "And that is?"

Tony realized he might have gone about this the wrong way.

"It's nothing bad," Tony hastened to explain. "Well, depending on who you ask, I guess."

James seemed just about ready to take a cautious step back; secrecy and cryptic answers clearly wasn't his favorite. Tony decided to just blurt it all out before he managed to make things even worse.

"They're memories." Tony swallowed when he saw James's wide-eyed look of surprise. "Not mine and, well, not yours, either. Not exactly. They're my dad's."

"Howard." It was difficult to say if that was fear or guilt in James's voice — probably both.

Tony shifted his weight but made sure to maintain eye contact. "Yeah. I actually made this for Steve. Well, the original," he amended, "which I think he still has in a closet somewhere. These files are copies."

James just kept staring, his expression impossible to read, and Tony kept talking, not sure what else to do.

"When Steve first woke up he was disoriented and he... well, he missed home. So I collected stuff my dad had saved — relating to the war and the Commandos and things like that — and gave it to him." Tony gestured towards the box. "My dad was quite the fan of Captain America. There are photos, videos, news articles, letters..." He cleared his throat and looked at James. "Everything has been digitized so you can view the stuff on a tablet if you like, but Steve preferred hard copies at the time. Made them feel more real, or something."

James's silence was beginning to make Tony extremely nervous. He'd messed up again, hadn't he?

"I just thought about what you said." Tony knew he was beginning to ramble, but he didn't know how to stop. James was just standing there, staring at him, and Tony had no idea if it was good or bad staring. "About wanting to know who you were. While I can't give you that, this is the next best thing, right? Most of the files focus on Steve, but you're in here too."

The silence remained. James didn't say anything, but Tony could see him swallow, his eyes shiny with what could only be gathering tears.

Tony panicked.

"You don't have to look at it." His heartbeat pounded in his ears. Why had he thought this would be a good idea? It was clearly only making James upset. "I just wanted to give you the option. I thought having actual records of what happened might help you remember." Tony swallowed. "It's the best I can do. I didn't mean to—"

With a couple of rushed, stumbling strides James had crossed the distance between them and pulled Tony in for a hug. The embrace took Tony's breath away, not just for how hard James was squeezing, but for the surge of relief. He hadn't fucked up as badly as he had feared. Tony closed his eyes, reveling in the feeling of having James's arms around him; he would never tire of that.

"Thank you," James whispered, his voice a little choked.

Tony ran a hand down James's back, hoping to soothe.

"Anything for you, sweetheart," Tony replied, not having planned for the words to sound quite so sincere. Not that he didn't mean them, he was just worried that he might be revealing a little too much about his feelings for James.

They had never discussed the obvious attraction between them. While they had been speaking over the phone it had been a part of the thrill to tease and hint yet never quite commit, but now? Tony had no idea where they stood. He wasn't sure if James was still interested now that he knew that Tony wasn't just Anthony the Tech Guy. Considering what James had said about wanting a normal life, Tony had to assume that nothing would ever happen between them or, at the very least, that James wouldn't be in it for the long haul.

Not that Tony blamed him. He was surprised to find just how willing he, himself, was to commit, since that was usually a big issue of his. Still, while Tony was more than prepared to give them a try, it was understandable if James didn't feel the same considering the number of complications they had already run into.

James pulled back a little, his hand gently cupping Tony's cheek. " _Thank you_."

It wasn't just the gratitude in James's voice that made it difficult for Tony to breathe; it was the way James looked at him and that soft touch against his cheek. There was warmth in James's eyes and something Tony might dare to call devotion — fondness, at the very least. How was he supposed to say no to that? Tony stared up into James's eyes and the only thing he could think of was how much he wanted to kiss him.

But that would be a bad idea — a _very_ bad idea.

James had gone through so many ups and downs in the past week and Tony still had no idea what the future held. As much as he wanted to throw caution to the wind and close the distance between them, he knew he couldn't. It wouldn't be fair to James. They were both far too emotionally unstable to start anything.

Tony smiled instead, placing a light hand against James's side — he wasn't strong enough to resist touching James entirely — and tried his best to break the intimate tension as gently as possible.

"You can look through the files in your room if you want." Tony realized James might take that as a dismissal and quickly added, "Or here. Whichever suits you best."

James seemed reluctant to tear his gaze away from Tony, but eventually turned his head to look at the file box instead. He let out a slow breath, his apprehension so palpable that Tony almost told James to forget about the whole thing. Regaining his memories wasn't supposed to be this terrifying.

"Here." James swallowed, looking back at Tony. "I'd like to stay here, if that's okay?"

"Yeah, of course," Tony replied with a smile. He took a careful step back and tried to pretend that he didn't miss James's body heat the moment he was out of reach. Tony gestured toward the file box. "Knock yourself out."

After a brief moment of hesitation, James walked over to the workbench. He was eyeing the box as if he expected it to bite him, but he seemed quite curious at the same time. Tony watched in silence as James carefully picked up the file box and carried it over to the couch placed in one of the quieter corners of the workshop.

Tony had no idea what James might find inside that box, but he hoped it would help him make sense of the world.

It took two hours before Tony's curiosity got the better of him and he decided to abandon his distracted attempts at working in favor of James and his file box. Tony waved away the screen in front of him and sauntered closer to the couch, stopping at a respectful distance. At some point during the past two hours, James had slid down to sit on the floor, papers and photos spread out around him.

"How's it going?" Tony asked, trying to sound casual.

James glanced up from the document he was reading. "Okay."

He looked surprisingly calm. Tony wasn't sure what he had expected, but it wasn't this. Considering that some of the documents detailed the life James had lost — a life he would never get back — Tony had been prepared to help talk James through another panic attack or, at the very least, soothe some of the inevitable grief. James seemed to take it pretty well, however. There was a frown on his face, sure, and there was no mistaking the tension in his posture, but he was undeniably calm.

Almost worryingly calm.

Tony hesitated for a second, debating whether or not he was actually welcome, before he sank down to sit cross-legged on the floor. He took care not to disturb the papers fanned out around James like a protective half-circle, his eyes straying to the black-and-white photo James had placed carefully on top of the others, right at the centre. It was upside down from Tony's angle but he easily recognized it as a still from one of the short movie reels he'd found in his dad's archives.

Despite knowing he might be intruding, Tony reached out and turned the photo around to get a better look. Steve and James smiled up at him, clearly seconds from laughing, as if they had been caught in the middle of a shared joke. It was almost disorienting to see James look so happy and healthy, his hair cut short and with just a hint of stubble. His shirt was open at the collar, casually showing a glimpse of his dog tags, and he looked so effortlessly handsome that Tony felt a stir in his gut.

James had been so beautiful.

He still was, of course, but Tony couldn't deny that the old James had carried an extra spark of confidence and charisma that the current one didn't. That was perfectly understandable considering what James had been through, but that didn't make it any less heartbreaking to see the difference.

Tony wanted James to be able to smile like that again.

"I've seen some of these before."

Tony looked up, meeting James's gaze. "The photos?" he asked.

James nodded. "At the Smithsonian."

"Yeah," Tony confirmed, "I gave them permission to use some of my dad's stuff when they were putting together the exhibition."

Mostly to tease Steve, but James didn't need to know that.

Tony put the photo back and let his eyes travel over the rest of the display. From what Tony could tell, James had sorted the documents in chronological order, as if trying to piece together this part of his life, one sheet of paper at a time.

"Have you read these?" James asked.

Tony nodded, thumbing the corner of one of the papers just to have something to do with his hands. "A while ago, yeah. But I admit that I had Steve in mind when I did, not you."

A silence fell between them and James looked back down at the paper he was holding, scanning the page. After a couple of seconds he slipped it into its appropriate place in the improvised timeline he had created. It hurt to see just how careful James was, his movements calm and controlled, as if he was holding actual memories — slivers of himself that might break if handled too carelessly.

Tony did his best to swallow the lump in his throat but was only partially successful.

"At the beginning, I only remembered some of it," James said, voice low. Tony hid his surprise; he hadn't expected James to be the one to initiate a conversation. "Flashes. Brief glimpses. Nightmares."

Tony tilted his head to the side. "And now?"

James shrugged, the look on his face almost impossible to decipher. "I remember more and more. Sometimes I dream, sometimes the memories just... appear." He met Tony's gaze. "I write them down to make sure I don't forget again. It helps me organize them."

Tony felt a pang in his chest. He couldn't imagine what that was like, constantly living in fear of losing one's memory and, at the same time, dreading what was hiding in the gaps still to be remembered.

"This helps." James smiled — a soft, sad smile that only made Tony's chest tighten further — and gestured towards the papers. "Having these helps. Thank you."

"Anytime," Tony replied. "They're all yours."

That earned Tony a slightly stronger smile, but it was nowhere near the one caught in the photo lying between them. Tony couldn't help wondering if James would ever smile like that again.

Another silence fell and Tony debated whether or not that was his cue to leave. James still had a pile of files to go through and he probably didn't want an audience. But no matter how firmly Tony told himself to get up and go back to work, he still remained right there, watching as James picked up the next document. A lock of hair had slipped out from behind James's ear, lightly touching his cheek, and Tony had to clench his hands in his lap to stop himself from reaching out and brushing it back.

He quickly chose to focus on the upside-down papers instead, absently reading snippets here and there. A lot of them were official documents or news clippings, but there were a couple of personal letters as well. Tony recognized Steve's handwriting on one — a letter he had written to Howard at some point during the war — and tried to push down the wave of guilt he felt at the mere thought of the man. Steve was out there looking for James, desperate for his long-lost best friend, and Tony knew exactly where to find him. While he hadn't had to lie to Steve yet, Tony suspected it was only a matter of time before he'd find himself in a position where he'd have to choose between his loyalty to Steve and his loyalty to James.

He wasn't sure if he could make that choice. The very thought made him nauseous.

Just as Tony was about to move on to the next document, a specific word in Steve's letter caught his eye. A name. Tony blinked, blurting out the question before he really had time to consider its repercussions.

"They used to call you Bucky back in the day, didn't they?"

James looked up, clearly surprised by Tony's choice of subject.

"Uh, yeah. Most people did." James appeared a little hesitant, maybe even awkward, but Tony decided to push his luck.

"Do you want me to?"

It made sense that James didn't walk around introducing himself as Bucky considering how uncommon that name was, but if it was the one James preferred, Tony could adjust.

Tony wasn't sure whether to feel insulted or worried when James stiffened, looking caught off guard.

"I..." James frowned. "I don't know."

As much as he tried to deny it, Tony was a little hurt by that reply. He'd hoped that he'd earned the right to use James's nickname by now.

"That's okay." Tony made sure to smile, even if he didn't particularly want to. "Just let me know if you change your mind."

"Anthony, it's not..." James sighed, running a frustrated hand through his hair. His teeth were gritted, as if he was struggling to find the words. "I'm not sure who I am," he said eventually, catching and holding Tony's gaze, as if hoping to convey his sincerity through that alone. "I don't know. I just... _don't know_. Not yet."

The hint of desperation in James's voice was enough to turn the hurt into guilt. Tony was being selfish. It wasn't like it made a difference what he called James — it was the person behind the name that mattered. Whatever Tony chose to call him, James was still one of few people Tony dared to open up to and one of those he found himself willing to trust, despite his usual issues and baggage.

"It's okay, James," Tony repeated, more convincingly this time. "I mean it. You'll figure it out. And, in the meantime, feel free to call me Tony."

There was a brief pause before James asked, "What if I like Anthony better?"

Tony blinked, not having expected that. It took him a couple of seconds before he decided what to reply.

"I'm used to being called Anthony by now, I guess. At least by you." He shrugged. "So either works."

No one else called him Anthony. Tony was pretty sure that he didn't _want_ anyone else to call him Anthony.

James frowned, looking _ashamed_ of all things. "I wish I could—"

"No. Stop right there," Tony interrupted. "The name is not a big deal right now. We'll get there. If you need to figure out who you are first, then that's what you should do."

James snorted, but there wasn't much humor in it. His hands were clenched tight in his lap, his shoulders tense. "Yeah, but how long will that take?"

"As long as needed," Tony replied. It wasn't the answer James wanted judging by how he averted his gaze and pressed his lips together into a thin line.

Tony sighed and leaned closer, reaching out across the barrier of strewn papers and placing his hand on top of James's. He didn't even realize it was the metal one until he saw a flash of alarm in James's eyes. Tony wondered if he should pull back. He felt kind of awkward already — gestures of comfort weren't exactly his strong suit — but as long as James wasn't pushing him away, Tony assumed the touch wasn't unwelcome.

"You'll figure it out." Tony had seen firsthand how strong James was and he had no doubt in his mind that he could overcome this. "Just take it one step at a time."

James looked down at their hands and swallowed. Then, ever so slowly, he turned his hand and carefully laced their fingers together. He seemed so frightened — as if he would hurt Tony just by touching him — but kept going until he could give Tony's fingers a gentle squeeze. The angle was a little awkward, Tony's arm stretched out to the point where it became uncomfortable, but he didn't complain. If James wanted to hold hands, then they would.

"And what's step one?" James asked. There was enough vulnerability in his voice to make Tony's breath catch.

He wasn't sure if he was qualified to answer that question, but Tony figured that it was best to start at the beginning. Or, rather, the one person he suspected James had never quite been able to forget, no matter how many sessions of brainwashing he'd been put through.

"Tell me about Steve."

The confusion on James's face was almost comical. "You already know Steve," he replied, his tone saying that he worried about Tony's sudden lack of intelligence.

"Not like you do." Tony squeezed James's hand and gave him an encouraging smile. "Tell me about Steve."

James was still hesitating, his expression turning more and more guarded. "I don't—"

"Yes, you do."

Tony touched the edge of the photo lying between them, displayed more prominently than any other. Whether James knew it or not, Steve was still an integral part of his life, and he had subconsciously placed him at the center of his timeline. As expected, James followed Tony's movement, his gaze inevitably finding Steve's smiling face.

"I don't think _anyone_ can forget Steve Rogers," Tony said, voice soft. "Least of all his best friend."

James's face crumpled, his breath trembling. As much as it hurt to watch, Tony knew this was necessary. If he got James talking about Steve, the rest would undoubtedly follow. Maybe not all of it, but certainly a lot more than James had right now.

Steve was the key.

Tony got to his feet — without letting go of James's hand — and gently tugged until James did the same. He steered them to the couch and took a seat, gratified when James followed his lead without prompting. James moved stiffly, showing that he wasn't entirely comfortable with the situation, but Tony had never been known to be particularly sensitive.

"Tell me about Steve," he said once more, placing his free hand on top of their clasped ones.

This time, James closed his eyes and swallowed. Tony could see a variety of emotions play across his face — grief, guilt, fear, pain — and waited patiently for James to speak.

Finally, after several long seconds of silence, James caved.

"He used to put newspaper in his shoes," he whispered, voice barely audible. His eyes were wide when he looked up at Tony, bright and a little afraid, but a small, careful smile was growing on his lips all the same.

Tony smiled back and squeezed James's hand in between his. "Oh yeah? What else?" he urged. "Keep going."

After a relieved, half-choked laugh, James did.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look at these boys, talking and communicating. I am so proud! Also, recovery! Yay! It will still take a while before either of them are remotely okay, but they're working on it.
> 
> Also, I keep getting questions about whether or not I will address Steve's dishonesty in this fic (concerning him not telling Tony about the murder of his parents) and the answer is no, not in this part. It wouldn't make sense since neither Tony nor Bucky knows about it and they have other things to focus on. In the second part of the series — which will be from Steve's POV — it will be brought up and dealt with, however. Whenever I have the time to write it, that is.


	5. A Plan for the Future

 

* * *

 

Tony woke up with a crick in his neck and DUM-E chirping loudly in his ear. He should learn not to fall asleep in his workshop — this inevitably happened every single time. Tony groaned and tried to push his annoying bot away, but only really succeeded in flopping onto his stomach and coming dangerously close to toppling off the couch. Or at least he _would_ have, had there not been something blocking his path.

"Good mornin'."

Tony's stomach did an impressive flip at the sound of James's voice and, after a fortifying breath, he dared to open his eyes.

James was sitting on the floor with his back against the couch, Tony's side and hip pressed against those broad shoulders of his. That was what had kept Tony from falling off.

DUM-E gave an inquisitive chirp before rolling off to rejoin his brothers, clearly satisfied now that Tony was awake.

"Sleep well?" James turned his head and met Tony's gaze. The smile on his face made Tony forget how to breathe. It should be illegal to look like that, all soft and irresistible, James's hair tousled just enough to show that he'd probably been sleeping too, not long ago.

Tony couldn't help but wonder if they had shared the couch and mourned the fact that he hadn't woken up earlier — then he might have been able to find out. He quickly pushed the thought aside — it was far too dangerous — while hoping that James couldn't hear his heart racing.

"Yeah," Tony mumbled. He couldn't say exactly when he'd fallen asleep. He'd listened to James talk about Steve for _hours_ , but apparently dozed off at some point, most likely lulled to sleep by the sound of James's voice. "My neck hurts, though."

James kept smiling, looking at Tony with far too much fondness in his eyes. He had a couple of files from the box in his lap, though he didn't appear particularly interested in reading them at the moment.

Even if James didn't seem to mind the contact, Tony shifted onto his side, making sure they were no longer touching. He took extra care not to get too tangled up in the blanket thrown on top of him; he'd probably gotten it from DUM-E. Again.

"I was gonna make breakfast, but, well..." James finished the sentence with a shrug, as if that would suffice as an explanation. Usually it might, but Tony was far too sleep-drunk and had had far too little coffee to make sense of it.

"But what?" Tony smiled and — without really considering whether it was wise or not — reached out and gently brushed back a wayward lock James's hair, securing it behind his ear.

He didn't mean to. Tony had just acted on instinct, his fingers itching to touch. James stilled, not even breathing by the looks of it, staring at Tony in a way that was suddenly deadly serious and almost worryingly intense.

James didn't pull back.

Tony had frozen, his fingers still touching James's skin, soft like a whisper, but James didn't move.

"I wanted to be here when you woke up."

James was looking up at Tony with both sincerity and a certain amount of fear, as if the admission scared him. The files in James's lap slid to the floor as he turned, and suddenly he was so close that Tony could see every little nuance in James's eyes — the hints of grey and green that made it so difficult to pinpoint what color they actually were.

James took Tony's hand gently in his, a frail, breathless silence lingering between them. It was unclear if James meant for the back of Tony's fingers to brush against his lips, but the touch sent a shiver through Tony, turning into a deep, delicious burn once it reached the pit of his stomach. He could feel James's trembling breaths against his fingers and Tony, for all his confidence and experience, didn't dare to move.

He was afraid to shatter the moment. He was afraid to wake up and find out this was all just a cruel dream. He was afraid that, any second now, James would realize his mistake and flinch back from the intimacy.

None of that happened.

Instead James smiled, careful and soft — as if he, too, was worried that one of them would shy away — and pressed a gentle kiss against Tony's fingers. James held Tony's gaze as he did so, as if wanting to make sure that Tony knew it was intentional. As if daring him to call it a mistake.

"It's okay," James whispered, his thumb stroking the back of Tony's hand. "'m not going anywhere."

Tony's breath caught. Ever since James had arrived at the tower, Tony had wanted to hear those words. He wanted it so badly he couldn't quite believe it now that James was actually saying them.

Instinct told Tony to deflect — to change the subject and pretend he wasn't at all affected by the situation — but this was _James_. Tony couldn't lie to him, especially not about something like this. As much as Tony loathed to admit to any kind of weakness, pushing James away was far worse. Pretending he didn't care would just be cruel. Tony couldn't hurt James like that.

He still had his doubts, though.

"But for how long?" Tony hated himself for how needy he sounded — he didn't want to be this vulnerable and he certainly didn't want to put unnecessary pressure on James.

It was obvious that James hadn't expected the question. Some of his confidence seemed to fade and he discreetly let go of Tony's hand. That alone was enough to make Tony's chest clench from dread.

"I thought..." James hesitated, clearly uncomfortable. The sudden uncertainty in his voice was heartbreaking. "You said I could stay?"

It was a carefully asked question, as if James thought that uttering the words out loud would make Tony change his mind. It was that uneasiness that made Tony realize that he and James were talking in circles around one another.

Tony was afraid that James would leave, while James was afraid he wouldn't get to stay.

They were such idiots.

"Of course you can stay," Tony replied, sounding unflatteringly desperate — not that he particularly cared. He pushed himself up onto his elbow, not quite comfortable having this conversation while lying down. "I just didn't know if you wanted to."

James remained silent, looking up at Tony with an almost frighteningly open look on his face, dread and hope mingling in equal measure. He wasn't trying to hide his emotions this time, and seeing that made Tony a little breathless; the amount of trust James had in him was staggering sometimes.

After a couple of seconds, James averted his gaze and cleared his throat.

"I didn't. Not at first."

Even if James used past tense — indicating that he now _did_ want to stay — the words hurt.

"I've been tryin' so hard to live a normal life, hiding away from HYDRA and Steve." James shook his head. "But that didn't help. The nightmares didn't stop and... I still don't know who I am. I've just... I've been _hidin'_ , for _months_."

"I don't think anyone can blame you for that," Tony said, "not considering what you've been through."

"But it's not _working_." James looked up at Tony, so frustrated and heartfelt. "I'm tryin' to figure out who I am but I keep runnin' from the _one person_ who'd be able to tell me. How fuckin' stupid is that?"

Tony would argue that it was, quite frankly, an understandable reflex, but he knew that wasn't what James wanted to hear.

"Steve wouldn't hold it against you either."

James made a frustrated noise. "No, but I do." He gritted his teeth, his voice bitter. "I should know better. Did I really think I could have somethin' normal after all this? After HYDRA?"

The words slipped out before Tony could even think to stop them.

"You can."

James scoffed, shaking his head. "No, I can't. How could I? With a metal arm and HYDRA hunting me?"

"I've arranged it," Tony blurted out.

The silence that followed was unnerving. It didn't last long, but each second James remained silent — staring at Tony with confusion and growing suspicion — was absolute torture.

"Whaddya mean?"

Tony swallowed against the lump in his throat, pushed the blanket aside, and sat up on the couch. James leaned back, giving him space, but looked ready to protest if Tony didn't answer his question. Even if James was sitting on the floor, dressed in Steve's soft, grey hoodie and hair tousled from sleep, he managed to look impressively severe and determined.

After a short exhale — closer to a sigh than anything else — Tony replied, "JARVIS has been working on it for days. He's not quite finished yet, but there is a new life for you, if you want it."

James frowned. "What does that even mean?"

Tony ran a hand through his hair, careful not to meet James's gaze. He didn't want to know what he would find there. James _had_ hinted that he wanted to stay at the tower, but he might change his mind when he found out that he could finally get the peace and quiet he had been looking for.

In fact, it would be foolish of James not to take the opportunity Tony was offering.

"He's gotten you a new name, a passport, papers, bank accounts — everything you'd need for new life." Tony shrugged despite feeling everything but nonchalant. "You can start over, free of HYDRA and the Avengers."

The words "and me" went unsaid, but Tony couldn't quite keep his voice neutral and James probably knew him well enough to hear the trace of dejection.

Another silence stretched out between them and Tony struggled not to fidget. He stared at the floor, elbows braced against his knees, and waited for James to speak.

It had to be a tempting offer. James could choose to disappear and never again be bothered by those hunting him. One of them being Steve.

Fuck.

In his haste to help James, Tony might very well have cost Steve his best friend. Tony closed his eyes against the surge of guilt. He really hadn't thought that through.

Steve would never forgive him.

"Why?"

James voice was so soft that Tony almost thought he'd imagined it at first.

"Why would you do that?" James clarified.

Tony rubbed a hand over his eyes, then down over his mouth. The answer was simple, but that didn't make it easy to say. He glanced at James, feeling his heart lurch at the almost bewildered look on James's face.

"I wanted to help. You said you wanted to live a normal life and while you can't have that with me, it's still within my power to give." Tony chose to be cowardly and stare at his own laced hands rather than look at James. He was surprised when the next couple of words didn't get stuck in his throat. "And it's yours, if you want it. You can disappear."

Only a fool would say no. James was clearly haunted by the things in his past, and here was a chance to be free of it all. He could start over — that was a gift not many were given.

Tony jumped in surprise when James's hand settled on top of his, his fingers warm and oh-so-comforting when they squeezed Tony's.

"I don't."

A beat passed, during which Tony was _sure_ he must have misheard, but didn't dare look up.

"Sweetheart? Please, look at me."

Tony closed his eyes at the nickname, a stubborn flame of hope flaring to life in his chest. He wasn't nearly strong enough to resist and soon looked up to meet James's gaze, his heart skipping a beat at the sight of that soft smile.

"That's what I was tryna tell ya'," James continued. He shifted closer, on his knees in front of Tony, and carefully — hesitantly — reached up to stroke Tony's cheek with his free hand. The metal fingers felt cool against Tony's skin, sending a delightful little shiver down his spine. "I'm done hidin'. I wanna stay."

That was almost too good to be true and, as usual, Tony had to push his luck.

"Are you sure?"

James only smiled, looking surprisingly serene. "Yes, doll. I'm sure."

There was no doubting his sincerity.

Tony's eyes fluttered shut when James cupped his cheek, the metal quickly warming from the heat of Tony's skin. James didn't say anything, but Tony could feel him move closer, until there was the gentle touch of James's forehead resting against his.

"Can I stay?" James whispered.

They were so close that Tony could practically _feel_ the words against his lips. He took a shuddering breath and allowed himself to let go of the tension and doubt he'd been carrying the past week.

James wanted to stay. There was no telling what the future held, but Tony was too relieved to worry about that now.

"Yes, please stay." Tony didn't even care if he sounded desperate — as long as James didn't leave, he would be fine.

James's metal thumb gently stroked Tony's cheek, his touch achingly sweet.

There was a smile in James's voice when he replied, "I will, sweetheart — for as long as you'll have me."

It was at the tip of Tony's tongue to say that nothing short of forever would do in that case, but he changed his mind at the very last second. He didn't want to cheapen the moment.

Instead he took James's hand in his, still keeping his eyes closed. Tony didn't want to break the perfect, breathless intimacy between them, not even to see what look was on James's face.

Truth be told, he didn't need to — Tony knew James was smiling, just as he was.

They didn't speak or move, both of them clearly content to just sit there, foreheads touching and hands entwined.

Tony felt truly at peace for the first time in months, and he could barely breathe for all the relief and hope coursing through him. Suddenly, the future seemed almost blindingly bright and Tony couldn't _wait_ to get there.

James wanted to stay.

In the days that followed, Tony and James finally seemed to slip back into alignment. The progress was slow and cautious, granted, but the teasing eventually returned and with it came the warmth and easy flirting. Their exchanges were noticeably more innocent this time around, though, which Tony attributed to the virtual minefield of issues they had to navigate.

To be honest, Tony didn't mind that so much; James was still recovering and there was no quick cure for the grief Tony had had to face. It felt safer to take things slow, giving them time to, essentially, get to know each other all over again. They were still the same people — all those details they had shared over the past two months were just as true — but everything had an added layer. There were so many aspects of James's behavior that suddenly made a lot more sense now that Tony knew where he came from — or when, in this case.

Tony could better understand the depth of James's paranoia — HYDRA was a terrifying force, even in its current, overthrown state — and see why James had such horrific nightmares. All those hours spent helping James through panic attacks and soothing his frayed nerves were cast in a new light, and Tony finally understood just how difficult things had to be for James. To be able to still function after what he had been through, to struggle through years of torture and all those painful memories and still not break, was nothing short of a miracle.

It wasn't all bad, though. In fact, it was a delight to finally find the source of many of those little quirks that made James so special. Like the outdated nicknames and his dry, snarky sense of humor, no doubt born from his many years as Steve Rogers' best friend and, to a lesser extent, his Army career. Tony also got a reason for why James occasionally struggled with new technology; growing up during the thirties and forties had that effect on people.

To his credit, James never needed to be told twice in order to grasp a concept or learn a function on his phone, and he was adorably determined. Quite like Steve, in fact, which Tony made sure to tell him.

They talked _a lot_ about Steve.

Like Tony had suspected, using Steve as the focal point was the easiest way to help James sort out his past. Once he started, James seemed to have a hard time stopping, in fact. Throughout the day he'd blurt out random little anecdotes and facts as they occurred to him, and Tony knew that James spent his evenings carefully writing them all down in his notebooks, desperate not to lose them again.

James was reclaiming his old life, one piece at a time.

Tony, for his part, loved to listen to the stories James told. Some were about growing up in Brooklyn, but most of them were about Steve; either the wild adventures they shared as kids or recounts from their time in the Army. The stories about Steve were undoubtedly the best ones, partly because of how invested James was in them — he came alive in a way that made Tony's heart ache with fondness — but also because it was _Steve_.

Tony and Steve had been friends for years by then, sure, but that was a different Steve — the man out of time who had been catapulted into the future and lost almost everyone he held dear.

In James's stories, Steve was innocent, fierce, and foolishly brave, determined to make the world a better place just because it was the right thing to do. Steve was still most of those things, but there was no denying that his innocence hadn't quite survived the trip to the future. Tony got to see a whole new version of Steve — one that was softer and less jaded — and he would be lying if he said he didn't treasure the glimpses he caught of that guy. Tony might even have become just a little bit addicted to the tales about these younger versions of two people he knew so well.

It was a bittersweet feeling to know that Tony would never get to see James and Steve as they had been before HYDRA emerged and reshaped them both. As brilliant as James's stories were, they clearly couldn't compare to having been there in person.

Tony was fortunate to hear them at all, though — he knew that — and therefore made sure to listen intently to everything James said, encouraging him to keep going when he hesitated. Sometimes they used the file box, James explaining the events that were referred to in the various documents, even if they weren't related to him personally. He told Tony about the war, about the fear and desperation, and what it had been like to live during a time when the world was, in James's words, fucked up as hell.

Many of those stories were gruesome, but Tony could handle them a lot better than the ones about HYDRA.

Those memories — about the torture and brainwashing James had been subjected to — were the ones that kept Tony up at night. He knew James didn't tell him everything, clearly intent on protecting Tony from the worst of it all, but he said enough. Tony could fill in the blanks. It was horrifying to know just what James had been put through, the years of pain he'd had to endure, and, some days, there was nothing that could wash away the taste of bile at the back of Tony's throat.

He still listened, though. Tony knew how important these memories were to James — how desperately he needed to reclaim them — and a little discomfort was a small price to pay if it helped James rediscover who he was. Especially since it was working.

As the days passed, James began to relax more and more. He was still wary and a little skittish, but he smiled more and seemed to have an easier time just enjoying the moment. He often got lost in his stories, grinning and gesturing as he spoke, and James's carefree enthusiasm was, quite frankly, one of the most beautiful things Tony had ever seen.

It wasn't a fast progress by any means — there were still times when James would shut down entirely, hiding away in his room or staring blankly at a wall for hours — but there were glimpses of the man James could have been, had HYDRA not gotten their hands on him.

That gave Tony hope and he kept asking for more stories, doing what he could to keep James motivated.

Not that James needed much encouragement; there was no doubt about his dedication to his recovery. If anything, Tony had to remind James not to push himself too hard. There were times when James got frustrated when he couldn't remember a specific detail and he seemed to take each new panic attack as a failure. He was making progress, but clearly not fast enough for James's liking.

A part of that might have been because of James's reluctance to leave the Avengers Tower. He was far too paranoid to venture outside, either expecting HYDRA to find him or to be recognized as the Winter Soldier. Tony didn't think that either of those were particularly likely — especially not the latter — but never said so out loud, knowing the comment would only make the situation worse.

Staying cooped up in the tower clearly made James restless, however. It didn't matter that Tony had two floors at his disposal — plus the roof, if James was feeling particularly daring — because that was clearly not enough room to dispel all the pent-up energy a super soldier carried.

Fortunately, after a week of watching James prowl around the workshop like a restless, agitated cat, Tony was able to convince him to give the gym a try. It was built to handle the full force of a super soldier and, to some extent, a demigod, so odds were that James wouldn't manage to break something that Steve and Thor hadn't already wrecked. Keeping James's presence a secret was still important — James clearly didn't want anyone to know he was there — but as long as none of the other Avengers showed up, they should be fine. Especially since JARVIS could alert James the moment anyone approached the gym and give him enough time to head back to Tony's floors without being seen.

At some point in the future, Tony would insist on James actually stepping outside the tower, at least for a short while, but all in due time. James was making excellent progress — he had started long before he met Tony, after all — but it wouldn't to do push him too hard.

If James saw the tower as a place where he felt safe and relaxed, Tony wasn't going to ruin that.

Besides, it wasn't like it was a hardship for Tony. Spending time with James was, in fact, one of Tony's favorite things, and he was selfish enough to secretly enjoy the fact that he had James's full, undivided attention. That wouldn't last, obviously, so Tony decided to simply make the most of it while he had the chance.

For now, it was just him and James, and Tony was absolutely fine with that.

Two weeks into James's stay at the tower, Tony got the call he had been dreading since day one.

"Sir, Captain Rogers is trying to reach you," JARVIS declared.

Tony's fingers froze in the middle of twirling a lock of James's hair. It had become more or less routine for the two of them to spend at least a couple of hours a day together on the workshop couch, the physical distance decreasing each time. By now, it wasn't uncommon for Tony to play with James's hair — which he did with much delight — or for James to trace careful, nonsensical patterns against the back of Tony's hand or any part of him he might comfortably reach. It was small touches that might seem inconsequential to some, but meant the world to Tony.

The way he and James kept moving steadily closer to each other, one small step at a time, was so distracting that Tony hadn't thought of much else. There were times when he had to attend meetings and do some actual work for Stark Industries, sure — and he talked to Rhodey on a regular basis and went to the occasional lunch with Pepper — but, other than that, it was just him and James. They existed in a bubble full of gentle touches, sweet smiles, and breathtaking stories about a time long past.

Tony felt he couldn't be blamed for losing track of what was going on with the rest of the world — that there was, in fact, something out there he should be paying attention to.

Steve calling was like a cold shower, jolting Tony back to reality.

He wasn't sure what to do. Refusing the call would be rude, but James was _right there_ , sitting on the floor next to the couch, and talking to Steve in front of him was probably not a good idea.

Before Tony had time to agonize too much, James made the decision for them.

"I'll go start dinner," he said, his face blank as he quickly got to his feet and made a beeline for the elevator. Tony opened his mouth to call him back but realized it wouldn't do them any good.

James might be fine talking _about_ Steve, but that didn't mean that he wanted to talk _to_ Steve. Or even hear his voice, apparently. Or perhaps he just wanted to give Tony some privacy.

Either way, Tony let him go. It might just have been his imagination, but he thought he saw a flash of guilt in James's eyes, and that was clearly a can of worms they didn't have time to open right at that moment. If he could help it, Tony preferred not to make Steve wait.

"On loudspeaker," Tony said, putting his tablet in his lap.

The call connected and Tony couldn't tell if the pinch in his chest was because of guilt or some kind of complex joy. He still didn't think he'd be able to lie if James was brought up somehow, but Tony couldn't deny that he had missed talking to Steve. Ever since the debacle in D.C., Steve had been difficult to reach and distant whenever they _did_ speak, too focused on dismantling HYDRA and searching for James to check in.

"Hi, Tony."

Just the sound of Steve's voice made Tony smile. He sank back against the armrest of the couch and absently gazed up at the ceiling.

"I was beginning to wonder if you had lost my number," Tony teased, knowing it was best to pretend that everything was as it always had been — as if James wasn't in Tony's kitchen, cooking dinner.

There was a small chuckle from Steve. "Yeah, sorry. I've been..."

"Busy," Tony filled in, making sure to keep his tone light. "It's okay — I can only _imagine_ the day-to-day responsibilities of Captain America. Does it involve kissing babies and cutting ribbons at ceremonies?"

That earned him an actual laugh, and Tony was pretty sure that he wasn't just imagining the relieved edge to it. Knowing Steve, he probably hadn't allowed himself to relax in ages and was, in all likelihood, pushing himself harder than he should, trying to locate his elusive best friend.

Tony swallowed down the wave of guilt, focusing on Steve. If nothing else, he needed to find out if Steve had any intention of returning to the tower anytime soon — James would want to know.

"Well, it's not quite as glamorous as socking Hitler in the jaw, but what can you do?" Steve joked. They both knew that wasn't what Steve had been up to, but Tony would do a whole lot to keep that smile in Steve's voice.

"There has _got_ to be a better use for a living, breathing national icon," Tony mused.

"When you figure it out, let me know."

Tony laughed, but couldn't help feeling a twinge of wistfulness. He had missed Steve these past couple of months — missed the teasing and camaraderie, which wasn't quite the same as the one Tony had with Rhodey. In all honesty, Tony had, on several occasions, allowed himself to wonder if he and Steve had the potential to become more than friends. But that had been before D.C. — before Steve became distracted and drifted just a little too far out of Tony's reach.

All those thoughts had just been harmless curiosity, nothing more.

Now, though, Tony found himself wondering what Steve would say when he heard about Tony and James's budding relationship. He quickly shoved the thought aside. He'd give himself a heart attack thinking about that.

"So, how have you been?" Tony asked, desperately hoping that he sounded casual and not at all panicked.

Steve probably gave _terrifying_ shovel talks.

"I'm good," Steve replied. Tony could hear the lie but knew better than to call Steve out on it. Steve probably didn't want Tony to worry, or maybe he just wanted to have a conversation that didn't involve them arguing about Steve's carelessness when it came to his general well-being.

Tony had a bad reputation when it came to not taking care of himself, sure, but Steve wasn't much better. Steve might remember to eat and sleep — unlike Tony — but instead threw himself head-first into danger as soon as the opportunity arrived.

"I just wanted to call and let you know that I'll be heading to D.C. for a week or two — a month, tops. Then I'll come to New York." There was a rustling sound in the background, as if Steve was in the middle of packing his bags.

Steve was clearly taking a break from his search for James. The fact that he would spend some weeks in D.C. first was fortunate, since that would give James more time to get settled and, hopefully, gather enough courage to actually _meet_ Steve when he eventually showed up. But Tony was a little disappointed at the delay, he had to admit that, for reasons he knew were selfish.

He missed his friend — could that really be held against him?

"You know you can come and go as you please without checking in with me, right?" Tony's tone was both teasing and fond. He knew Steve didn't call because he thought he had to — he did so because it was the nice thing to do. "That's the whole point of you having your own floor."

"I wanted to call," Steve replied, the softness of the words showing that he wasn't insulted.

Tony smiled. "I know. And I appreciate it."

Usually, Tony might not have said that last bit — it seemed to stun Steve into silence for a couple of seconds — but listening to James's stories these past two weeks had made Tony realize just how precious words were. That, sometimes, it might be better to speak them before you lost the chance to do so at all.

Steve cleared his throat. "I'll let you know when I leave for New York."

"Sure. Talk to you then."

"Call if you need me."

Tony laughed, always delighted by Steve's special brand of chivalry.

"Spoken like a true national icon," he teased.

Steve scoffed but was obviously quite pleased underneath the exasperation. "Goodbye, Tony."

"Bye, Steve."

There was a subtle beep when the call disconnected and Tony found himself lying there on the couch, staring up at the ceiling. The conversation had gone better than expected, but he now knew that it was only a matter of time before Steve returned to the Avengers Tower.

Hopefully, James would be ready by the time he did.

Tony wasn't sure if he would be able to keep lying if Steve was in the same building. He didn't _want_ to lie — not to Steve.

There was no use thinking about that now, though. They still had a week or two — maybe more — before Steve arrived, and Tony didn't want to spend them worrying about the future. One day at a time was how he and James had tackled things so far, and they would just have to stick to that pace for now.

Tony placed his tablet on the floor and pushed up from the couch, patting U as he passed on his way to the elevator. He needed to tell James about Steve's imminent arrival but, before that — dinner.

While James did get a little tenser when given an approximate deadline for when their sheltered existence would come to an end, he also seemed to become more determined. From what Tony could tell, James _did_ want to see Steve — he just wasn't sure if he was ready yet. Still, he was going to do his damndest to make sure that he would be.

They didn't really talk about what would happen when Steve came to the tower. First of all, there was no use trying to guess, each new scenario only adding more stress to an already tense situation. Second, talking about it would only put unnecessary pressure on James, which was the last thing Tony wanted.

There was an unspoken agreement, though, to keep the focus on James's recovery.

So Tony and James continued to spend their days in each other's company, slowly but surely guiding James through the minefield of his lost memories. They had a goal to strive for now, which seemed to add some extra motivation.

Tony did what he could to help. More often than not, that just meant _being_ there. James could occupy himself just fine when Tony was busy with work, but he clearly needed the security of knowing that someone else was in the room with him. That meant that James spent a lot of his time in the workshop, watching movies, writing in his journals, and, surprisingly, playing fetch with Tony's bots.

Tony would be lying if he said his heart didn't skip a beat whenever he watched them go at it. The happy, carefree smile on James's face and the bots' delight were, after all, things Tony treasured highly.

The two of them also continued the tradition of reading to each other.

Once they finished the _Harry Potter_ series, they moved on to _The Lord of the Rings_ , since James had apparently read _The Hobbit_ back in the day but, for obvious reasons, missed anything published after 1945. More often than not, James would insist on watching the movies too, just to see if they were different from the source material.

James's eagerness to embrace the future was endearing, and Tony was pretty sure it helped his recovery a great deal. He never hesitated, bravely learning new things while, at the same time, piecing together his past. At some point, Tony would have to insist they bring in a professional — there was only so much Tony could do — but he knew it was still much too early for that. James wasn't quite trusting enough for therapy to work, but maybe after he'd reconciled with Steve. If nothing else, Steve would probably agree and help convince James of the benefits of going to therapy.

Tony, for his part, tried his best to heal from the reopened wound caused by the death of his parents, which was surprisingly easy when most of his time was spent focusing on James. Perhaps Tony wasn't giving it the attention he should, but James took priority — it was just that simple.

By the time another two weeks had passed, James's confidence was growing daily; his smiles were brighter and his mood seemed to have improved significantly. Even the way he _moved_ slowly changed, the tense wariness being replaced by a loose, effortless grace that, quite frankly, bordered on obscene.

And then there was the _smiles_.

Tony had no idea how to handle James's smiles — not the soft, lazy ones, or the small, shy ones, and _certainly_ not the slow, flirty ones. Tony had half a mind to call Steve and demand to know why he hadn't told anyone that James's smiles were breathtaking enough to give Tony heart palpitations.

It just wasn't _fair_.

For each new day, James became more and more beautiful. Seeing James happy just made Tony fall that much harder. Tony couldn't even put his finger on what changed from day to day, but there was no denying that he was hopelessly in love and that his heart squeezed from longing pretty much every single time he looked at the other man.

And that was fine. James was still sleeping in the guest room and they hadn't so much as kissed, but Tony knew the feeling was mutual. He could see it in the looks James gave him — the soft, sweet smiles — and feel it every time James touched him. He did so with such reverence that Tony could almost start believing that he was something indescribably precious — something James just couldn't live without.

That was worth more than kisses. The trust and safety James offered was more than enough.

Sure, Tony wouldn't _mind_ if things went a little further, but there was no need to rush. He wasn't in a hurry. There was even something quite thrilling in waiting, drawing out each gentle touch until Tony was humming with warmth and longing.

Besides, it really was only a matter of time — they both knew that. They would get there eventually and, in the meantime, Tony reveled in the careful touches and soft smiles they shared.

For now, that was more than enough.

James was worth waiting for.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was that fluffy enough for you all? I swear, these two are so gentle and sweet they make cotton candy look rough.
> 
> We're soon done! The final chapter is a short epilogue where I tie up a couple of loose ends and give you another injection of cavity inducing fluff. You'll get it on Friday!


	6. Epilogue

 

* * *

 

Tony strolled along the wooden walkway, hands shoved into his pockets in a weak attempt to protect them from the chilly breeze blowing across the Brooklyn Bridge. The late-April sun only did so much to chase away the cold.

"Remind me again why we're doing this?" Tony drawled, giving James a judging look over the rim of his sunglasses.

James grinned, wide and flirty, which — as always — made Tony's heart skip a beat. He had a particular weakness for James's smiles.

"'Cause I asked." James playfully bumped his arm against Tony's, the look in his eyes doing a whole lot more to warm Tony up than the sun ever could. "And you can't say no to me."

Well, Tony _could_ — he just didn't do it very often. And definitely not when James asked Tony to accompany him on one of his tentative, and so far quite rare, trips outside the tower — even if it took them to the Brooklyn Bridge, of all places.

Tony couldn't help wondering if the Statue of Liberty would be next.

"But why the Brooklyn Bridge?" he asked.

James shrugged and tilted his face up toward the sun, promptly causing Tony's brain to short-circuit for a second. How could he be expected to think when James was looking like _that_? Smiling at nothing in particular, his hair windswept from the breeze and posture relaxed and inviting, despite being out in the open.

Sometimes it was shocking to see just how much progress James had made in the past five weeks. There were still bad days, sure, and months of additional recovery to go through, but he seemed _happy_.

More and more, he looked like the effortlessly smiling man on that old black-and-white photo from the file box.

James apparently had no intention of answering Tony's question and they kept walking in silence, close enough for their arms to touch. There were fewer people on the bridge than Tony had expected, but whether that was thanks to the early hour or the weather was difficult to tell.

"So," Tony said after a couple of minutes, glancing at James, "Steve comes back in two days."

James already knew this — Tony had told him three days ago — and actually seemed to be looking forward to it now, rather than dreading it.

"I know." James kept looking up at the sky, smiling softly to himself. "I won't say I'm not nervous, but... I'm ready. I know I'm ready."

Tony felt the knot of tension in his chest loosen. He had been a little worried that James would back out at the last minute, deciding he didn't want to see Steve after all. Not only would that have made things difficult for Tony — lying to Steve really wasn't high on his list of things he wanted to do — but James would no doubt have seen it as a failure of some kind.

"He'll be happy to see you," Tony said. Neither of them doubted that, even if Steve would probably get a bit of a shock when suddenly faced with his long-lost best friend without much warning.

James merely nodded, his gaze turning to look out over the East River. When he slowed his steps, eventually coming to a halt, Tony did the same. There was a contemplative look on James's face, but it soon bled back into that soft, contented smile he'd been wearing for the past hour.

When he looked at Tony, there was nothing but warmth and fondness in his gaze.

"I wanted to thank you," James said, while reaching over and gently pulling Tony to the side, out of the way of a group of passing tourists.

"What for?"

James smiled. "Everythin'?"

"That doesn't exactly narrow it down," Tony pointed out with a raised eyebrow. He leaned back against the steel railing of the bridge, hands still in his pocket.

James apparently took that as an invitation to move to stand in front of Tony, close enough that they were practically touching. He placed his gloved hands against the railing on each side of Tony, effectively blocking him in. Not that Tony complained — having James close was always a joy, not to mention that he was shielding Tony from the worst of the wind, though that was probably just a fortunate side effect.

"I wasn't tryin' to narrow it down." James's playful tone was a delightful new addition to his growing repertoire of things that made Tony go weak in the knees. "I'm sayin' I'm grateful for everythin' you've done these past months. I don't know where I'd be without you."

The confession made it a little difficult to breathe and Tony quickly averted his gaze. He was wearing sunglasses so technically he didn't have to — James didn't know which way he was looking anyway — but the reflex was almost impossible to curb.

"Anthony."

Considering the hint of a reprimand in James's voice, Tony wasn't the least bit surprised to feel his sunglasses being carefully plucked off his nose. Tony didn't protest, watching in silence as James folded them and slipped them into his jacket pocket. Once that was taken care of, James looked back at Tony, insisting on catching his gaze before speaking.

"I mean it," he said, soft but insistent.

Tony swallowed, looking up into James's eyes, feeling his heart lurch at the breathtaking sincerity he found there.

"I know," he replied, "that's what makes it so difficult to..."

Tony wasn't sure how to finish the sentence and ended up shrugging helplessly instead.

Fortunately, James didn't seem to hold that against him. Tony's honesty earned him another one of those slow, heartstoppingly gorgeous smiles, as James reached up with one of his hands to cup Tony's cheek.

"I'm so grateful for everythin' you've done. Thank you."

Tony still had an urge to protest, or at the very least deflect the attention away from himself, but he knew James wouldn't stand for that — not this time. James could be very adamant about these things.

"You're welcome," Tony therefore replied, voice just a little bit softer than he had intended. Tony couldn't say if it was because of their close proximity or the fact that James had glanced down towards Tony's lips when he spoke, but his heart was definitely picking up its pace.

The look in James's eyes made Tony shiver. There was a lot of fondness there — warmth, comfort, and safety — but also something that burned much stronger. Something _fierce_ that made Tony's gut clench from anticipation.

Silence hung between them for a beat, then another, and Tony could practically feel himself _thrum_ with longing.

When James leaned closer, Tony had a hard time keeping himself under control. Eagerness made him want to surge forward and put an end to the long wait, but he forced himself to be patient. He would let James set the pace.

Neither of them seemed to care that they were in public — on the middle of the Brooklyn Bridge, no less.

The first brush of James's lips against his made Tony's breath catch. He closed his eyes, feeling a shiver run down his spine, and had to hold back an embarrassing noise of delight when James finally kissed him.

James's lips were so warm, the sensation spreading like a wave of heat underneath Tony's skin, making his fingers tingle. It was a soft kiss — careful, innocent, and gently exploring — and Tony wouldn't have it any other way. Even this was enough to make his heartbeat echo loudly in his ears, the flutter in his chest making it almost impossible to keep the happy smile from his lips.

When James inched back, just enough to break the kiss but still stay close enough that their breaths mingled, Tony knew he was grinning like an idiot. He pulled his hands from his pockets and settled them on James's hips.

"I think," James began, the slight catch in his breath showing just how affected he was by their kiss, "that you should start calling me Bucky."

Tony blinked in surprise, but quickly understood the significance of what James was saying. James was reclaiming more and more pieces of his old life, some of them having been more difficult than others.

His name was, perhaps, the biggest of them all.

James had struggled with his identity for _months_ , not knowing who he was or where to even begin to sort through his fractured memories. Or, for that matter, whether or not he could forgive himself enough to actually reclaim his old name. But now, after months spent rebuilding himself — one painstaking memory at a time — he had clearly made a decision.

A smile spread on Tony's lips and he gently bumped their foreheads together, feeling both joy and pride at seeing how far James had come — how he had refused to give up, despite everything that had been working against him.

"What if I like sweetheart best?" Tony teased, his heart soaring when James laughed, bright and carefree in a way that Tony hadn't thought he'd ever get to see.

"I guess I can allow that," James replied, grinning. He took Tony's face in his hands, his thumbs brushing Tony's cheeks. "As long as you let me call you doll."

"You've got yourself a deal, Bucky," Tony whispered, then leaned in for another kiss.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand done! A very happy ending to an otherwise pretty painful fic. This was supposed to be a whole lot shorter and not quite this serious, but there you go. As for the sequel, it's not written yet and I'm not entirely sure when I'll be able to, but hopefully not too far in the future.
> 
> Thank you yet again to [Shi-Toyu](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Shi_Toyu/pseuds/Shi_Toyu), [ivoughrie](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ivoughrie/pseuds/ivoughrie), [Vashoth](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Vashoth), and [orbingarrow](http://archiveofourown.org/users/orbingarrow) for all the help I got while working on this <3
> 
> I hope you've enjoyed the fic and that I'll see you all next time (whenever that may be). In the meantime, here's my [Tumblr](http://amethystinawrites.tumblr.com/)!


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